


Hostile Merger

by Yin



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Workplace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-11-09 20:12:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11112000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yin/pseuds/Yin
Summary: They hold the key to lasting peace, if they don't kill each other first that is!  Just typical work days for a group of "useless" soldiers.





	1. Traffic Delay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Dexter Grif was used to not getting to work on time, so he honestly didn’t give a shit that he was late. Yeah, he was apathetic as fuck. Being a one-man draft stuck in a pointless turf war sort of did that to someone. The chubby man liked to think that kind of an attitude made him a maverick, although his friend Tucker would argue it just made him an ass.

The initial reason Grif had for running late was that he had just finished shooting off a message to his little sister, Kai, back home on the island of Blood Gulch. Blood Gulch was remote as fuck and nothing ever really happened there, but it was practically a tropical paradise compared to the more forested areas of Valhalla where he was stationed now. In his message to Kai, he mentioned how things in Valhalla still sucked, but he had also downplayed it to keep her from getting too suspicious. Mostly because the younger Grif sibling sort of did even dumber-than-usual things when worried.

After sending the message, Grif had happened to notice the time. Putting the tablet down, he let out a long-suffering sigh, knowing that he better get moving. He’d still be late by anyone else’s standard, but at least he’d be on time regarding his very own _“Grif’s schedule”_ and wasn’t that all that mattered? Probably not to his boss, but it was important to him, damn it! 

The funny thing about the town of Valhalla _(outpost, region…whatever the fuck people were calling it these days)_ was that it was comprised entirely of a military outpost. They didn’t really even have barracks for anyone. It was just assigned housing. Naturally, Grif’s happened to be in the shittiest part of town and was as far from the base proper as could be.

The orange-armored soldier chugged down his poorly-tasting instant coffee as he headed out the door, already disappointed that he didn’t have time to stop by the one coffee house on his way to work.

There was a lengthy traffic jam going from way past his street onwards, and Grif couldn’t help but absentmindedly wonder what the hold-up was as he glanced idly towards the transports lined up along the street. People moved to and fro, faster on their feet than the stalled cars.

One could almost be lulled into thinking that Valhalla was a nice, peaceful kind of town. In many respects it was, at least on the surface. But, pry a bit further below…

Deep in thought, Grif only barely noticed that there was a redheaded guy standing right outside the coffee house, cups of steaming hot beverages in a tray in his hands. The nerd seemed lost in thought and, yeah, _okay_. Grif wasn’t paying all that much attention either, so one could pretty much predict what happened next. Grif slammed right into the maroon-wearing man, knocking coffee all over his sweater-vest shirt combo in the process.

“Fuck!” The man, who was around Grif’s age or maybe even a few years younger, swore and clenched his teeth as the lingering drops of liquid no doubt burned his skin.

Grif actually almost, _almost_ felt bad about the situation. Until his brain oh-so-helpfully reminded him that he was _still_ late and he couldn’t help but swear himself. He threw more than enough credits at the stranger to pay for new drinks before suggesting rather helpfully in his own opinion, “Maybe next time you shouldn’t stand in the middle of the sidewalk like a fucking zombie, dumbass.”

Grif quickly left before the bewildered redhead could splutter out some form of an indignant response. This was only the third month into his new, forced-upon him assignment. He really hoped this wasn’t a sign of what was to come.

*****

Agent Carolina tapped her foot impatiently in the cavernous, empty training hall, “They’re late.” She noted quietly, arms crossing over her chest.

From where he was standing next to her, Agent David Washington couldn’t help but nod his blond head in agreement, “This isn’t going to bode well for the negotiations, is it?” He couldn’t help asking his leader.

Carolina shook her head, green eyes narrowed as she regarded the still closed doors to the hall, “I wasn’t referring to the Armonians.”

The slightly younger man caught onto her meaning well enough as he quirked an eyebrow in response, “You mean the Reds and Blues?”

Though the two teams were considered soldiers like practically everyone else who lived in Valhalla, they were primarily assigned to the Science and Administrative Sectors. As far as Washington could gather, punctuality wasn’t the strongest suit of either group, who were little more than laughingstocks to the rest of Valhalla.

He had even heard rumors that some of them had never even seen combat, and given their personalities that wasn’t particularly shocking. They were of such little interest to him that he honestly hadn’t bothered to read their files in great detail, though he had a feeling the woman next to him had them all memorized down to every insignificant detail. That was just how Carolina operated.

Carolina gave a curt nod in reply, “As well as our mercenary _friends_.” She shook her head at that comment, “Though it’s only par the course for at least one of them to make a dramatic entrance.”

Washington frowned, “Do you mean Tex or Felix?” He asked, crinkling his gray eyes. Carolina glanced towards his direction wordlessly and he couldn’t help but laugh a little sheepishly, “…Never mind.”

As they stood there in silence for a few more minutes, another thought crossed Washington’s mind. He glanced over at the redhaired woman debating on if he should even ask it. At length, he took the plunge, “Isn’t your brother on the Blue Team?” He inquired, “Church?”

Carolina let out a tired sigh and nodded, “We haven’t exactly had a chance to really talk in a while though, due to the war.”

Right. That was because up until a few days ago, both Washington and Carolina were still being sent out on missions all over Chorus, despite how (or perhaps _because_ ) they were the only two Freelancers left. Washington couldn’t help but nod his head in understanding, “I guess it’s a good thing then that the peace talks are underway now, huh?”

“I suppose so.” The redhead frowned, “Though I wonder if we’ll have much common ground to work with.”

Before Washington could ask her what the cyan-armored woman had meant by that, the doors to the training hall opened. The three mercenaries that they had been waiting for entered, the one clad in steel and orange had his arms spread out wide in greeting. Washington shot Carolina a pointed look at Felix’s obvious posturing.

“You can hold your applause, I’ve finally arrived!” Felix said into the relatively empty space before he paused and looked around, “Where the fuck is everyone?”

“They’re late.” Carolina informed the mercenary matter-of-factly, annoyance evident in her tone.

Felix rolled his eyes, “Well, _obviously_.” The tallest of the mercenaries, Locus, straightened up even further to his full towering height, “There _was_ an accident reported. A ground transport delayed traffic.” He noted.

The blonde with them, the female mercenary who formally went by the name Agent Texas, smirked at Felix for having not paid attention to such a simple fact.

“Oh, don’t even fucking start with me.” Felix was quick to respond to the gesture with an upraised middle finger, much to Tex’s growing amusement.

Tex turned to Washington and Carolina, nodding her head in way of greeting to her former teammates, “Nice to see you both again,” she stated, “Especially you, Carolina.”

Carolina huffed irritably as she moved towards where the exercise and training equipment was kept, “I’m going to get things ready.”

Washington was somewhat taken aback by the redhead’s abruptness, but Felix and Locus merely exchanged a quick glance while Tex looked on as if she had expected such a reaction.

“Hey, Tex,” Felix asked, raising a brown eyebrow disinterestedly as he did so, “Is she still _that_ upset that you left Freelancer?”

“I guess so.” Tex shrugged her shoulders, a thoughtful smirk crossing over her face, “Though my having started to date her brother again could have something to do with it too.”

Felix whistled, though he quickly made a face as his brown eyes swept around the empty room once more. “Damn it.” He muttered under his breath, stomping the edge of his foot onto the ground for good measure, “These assholes better show up soon. I fucking _hate_ waiting.”

*****

The Administrative Sciences Studies Building, not so affectionately referred to as the ASS Building, was a poorly maintained, shambling thing that rose a measly two stories up. It had long since been forgotten in many respects. Perhaps that was to be expected when the military was more focused on fighting an ongoing, fought-the-same-way-it-always-has-been war.

The type of things that the ASS Building did was of little importance in the grand scheme of things. So, most of the people who were assigned to its various levels were those who didn’t really fit into any of the more _“traditional”_ army roles.

Truthfully, that served Lavernius Tucker just fine. He had a kid, for fuck’s sake. He’d rather have a desk job any day of the week. Even if said desk job was usually boring as all fuck, and it left him scar-less. Chicks dug scars, but they didn’t seem to be too turned on by his self-inflicted gunshot wound. Who knew that shooting yourself in the foot wasn’t going to pick up chicks? If someone had told him that, he may have reconsidered it!

Currently, Tucker was very diligently “working” by shooting scrap paper airplanes at the back of his co-worker’s head.

The dark-haired man named Leonard Church groaned at the continued annoyance and finally swatted away one of Tucker’s brilliantly constructed masterpieces, “Quit it, Tucker! I swear if Caboose comes in and finds this fucking thing fun, I’ll throw you both out the goddamned window.”

Tucker harrumphed under his breath at the threat, “We’re only two floors up, asshole.” He reminded Church, but then he remembered why he had been throwing the paper airplanes in the first place and groaned as he spun in his seat, “I’m fucking bored! Can’t we go to the shooting range and blow shit up?”

They might not act like it most of the time, but they _were_ technically soldiers. Which meant that they had access to all of the training stuff too. Sure, he might have used the training stuff to shoot his own foot in an attempt to pick up chicks, but that didn’t fucking mean he was totally irresponsible!

Church rolled his eyes before glaring back at his computer screen as if the data on it had somehow personally insulted him, “ _Maybe_ you wouldn’t be so bored if you actually, you know, did your fucking work?” He suggested in his typical-oh-so-delicate Church fashion.

Tucker groaned and spun around again, “But data entry is pointless now that we’re having peace talks.”

A brown-haired woman a few desks away looked up, “I wouldn’t say that, Tucker. It’s still quite fascinating to me.”

Tucker frowned in her direction, “Of course you’d say that, Sheila. You’re an android.”

Blue Team’s mechanical assistant simply smiled and shook her head as if the dark-skinned man simply wasn’t seeing the larger picture.

“Why the fuck are you even complaining?” Church demanded then, spinning around himself to fix his friend with a level stare, “You’re only working until Junior gets out of school.”

The other man shook his head, “Babysitter’s picking him up today because we have that stupid meeting.”

Church frowned, “What meeting?”

There was a commotion at the door to their office, and Michael J. Caboose suddenly skipped inside. His Virtual Intelligence gun, Freckles, shot a blast of confetti into the air to signal the younger man’s arrival. “The one that your scary-but-not-so-scary sister set up!” Caboose exclaimed happily in response to Church’s question, “Don’t you remember, Church?”

“Are you sure that’s today?” Church asked, frowning even more.

Tucker and Caboose both nodded, though Tucker was quick to point out, “Relax though. It isn’t until this afternoon.”

“Actually,” Sheila spoke up just then, “The meeting was arranged for this morning. I just assumed you were skipping it again.”

The three men looked at one another, then glanced at the digital clock display on the wall.

“Fuck.” Church muttered under his breath.

Tucker let out another exasperated sigh: “I changed my mind. I’d rather be bored out of my fucking skull than deal with this shit. Your sister might be hot, but she’s scary as fuck when we’re late.”

*****

Vanessa Kimball glanced around the crowded military transport, noting that the other representatives of the Armonian delegation were getting rather agitated by the current traffic delay. Not that she could blame them.

Lieutenants Matthews and John Elizabeth Andersmith were trying to calm their growing nerves by discussing familial topics under their breaths. The tan girl wearing armor with maroon trim, Katie Jensen, was fidgeting in her seat. Jensen’s friend Volleyball, Kimball had never been able to get the blonde to reveal her real name, placed a steadying hand on the other girl’s shoulder. Lieutenant Antoine Bitters was desperately trying to ignore Lieutenant Charles Palomo’s attempts at conversation, though that only seemed to make the teal-trimmed young man try harder.

It wasn’t as though Kimball could blame them for being anxious. She was too, all things considered, despite being several years older than all of them. Well, save for perhaps Andersmith, who had joined the military of Armonia rather late.

For a brief moment, the dark-haired woman allowed herself to once again wonder why she was being sent with inexperienced rookies. Kimball couldn’t help wondering about the reasoning behind this particular assignment. Most of those picked were young, and all were incredibly inexperienced. Even Kimball’s own rank had been due more to missteps and the tragedies of her predecessors than on her own abilities.

…It was almost as if the Armonians didn’t expect the peace talks to work out. At all. Thinking along those lines simply made her all the more depressed, as if their leaders hadn’t expected the process to go well and so had picked their more “expendable” soldiers to send into enemy territory.

She wanted, no, _needed_ , them to go well. The fighting on the planet of Chorus had been nonstop and the region of Armonia in particular needed this peace to last. Desperately so, even.

She saw Palomo being pushed by a fed-up Bitters out of the corner of her eye, and then the other lieutenants raced forward to stop the altercation from escalating. Just as she was about to command them all to stop, the transport driver glanced over at her apologetically.

“I’m sorry about the delay, ma’am.” He informed her with a slight tilt of his head, “Hopefully we’ll be moving soon.”

The dark-skinned woman could only nod her head in quiet response, hoping inwardly that this traffic delay wouldn’t be a sign of things to come.

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons brought his second tray of coffee over to the Red Team’s side of the second floor of the ASS Building without any further problems. Though he still wanted to curse out the orange-wearing jackass who had made him even later than he already was in the first place. Not to mention the jerk had nearly scalded him to boot! Granted, Simmons shouldn’t have let himself get caught with his head in the clouds, but still! There was such a thing as common courtesy, damn it!

His delay didn’t seem to have any impact on his exuberantly cheerful co-worker, Franklin Delano Donut, who took the tray from Simmons with a pleasant enough “Thanks a bunch, Simmons!” But then his brown eyes widened when he looked at Simmons’ state of dress and he couldn’t help but tsk slightly, “Though I do hope you know how much coffee brown clashes with maroon.” Donut informed him, “ _Especially_ on someone with as pale a complexion as you.”

Simmons couldn’t help spluttering, “It—it wasn’t by choice, Donut!”

Donut grinned and patted his arm sympathetically after setting the tray down on a desk’s surface, “Don’t you worry, Simmons. I’m an expert when it comes to stain removal!”

Simmons sighed, “Have the deliveries been made to Doc and Doctor Grey yet?” He asked, hoping for something— _anything_ , really—to do to get away from his way-too-cheery-right-now co-worker’s way.

A dirty blond nod was his response, “Not to worry, it’s all been taken care of! Donut always gets head!”

“Don’t you mean _“ahead”_?” The redhead inquired hopefully.

The younger man in pink hummed, “That too.” Before Simmons could groan in exasperation, Donut continued, “Besides, we have that meeting to get ready for.”

Simmons frowned in thought, “What meeting?”

There was a bustle of activity behind them, and what almost sounded like an electronic sigh as their resident android, Lopez, came into view.

“El que he estado tratando de contarte durante semanas.” _{“The one I’ve been trying to tell you all about for weeks now.”}_

Sarge, their supervisor, picked that time to enter the office. Thankfully, the red-armored soldier came in before Donut could try to _“interpret”_ for Lopez.

“Hey, Sarge!” Donut greeted the older veteran amicably, “Look what Simmons brought us!”

He held up the tray of coffee, and Sarge nodded his head gratefully. Simmons felt a swell of pride blooming in his chest at the simple acknowledgement, as if getting coffee for everyone deserved a pat on the back.

“Are you talking about the meeting with the Armonian folks, Donut?” Sarge asked, “The one that’s supposed to help speed along the peace talks or whatever claptrap it is they’re giving for it?”

Right. Simmons vaguely remembered his father talking about such an event. …His father hadn’t been a big fan of it, as he recalled. But, Simmons had completely overlooked their team’s involvement in the matter. After all, the ASS Building very rarely got involved in anything. They were often forgotten.

“The one and the same, Sarge!” Donut chimed in, a thoughtful look on his youthful face, “It’s not starting until later though, right?”

“... Ya estamos jodidamente tarde!” _{“…We’re already fucking late!”}_

The pink-wearing soldier frowned, casting a glance over at Lopez then, “What do you mean, Lopez?”

But, before Lopez could even finish his sigh, Doctor Emily Grey and Frank “Doc” DuFresne were standing in the still open doorway. The dark-skinned woman raised an eyebrow in surprise at the sight of the four of them, “I thought you’d be at the meeting by now.”

Sarge looked equally surprised by her statement, “Why in Sam Hill would we be at a meeting that doesn’t start until later?”

The two medical personnel exchanged a glance with one another before Doc spoke up rather tentatively-yet-somehow-still-cheerfully, “We’re already late to it due to a patient emergency. So, doesn’t that mean you’re late too?”

Doctor Grey sighed and shook her head, “Sometimes, no matter what you do, some people just don’t have the common courtesy to stop bleeding all over your instruments.”

“Well, look at that!” Sarge shook his head in bewilderment as all of Red Team turned to face Lopez, “How’d you get the time so wrong, Lopez?”

Lopez sighed yet again and shook his robotic head.

“Son todos idiotas.” _{“You’re all idiots.”}_

Simmons couldn’t help but let out a sigh himself as he wondered how the rest of the day would go.

*****

Dexter Grif _really_ wasn’t liking all of this back-and-forth that he kept having to do on account of his job. When he had been assigned as a bodyguard for a guy who seemed to mostly be at his desk all day, he figured maybe it would end up being a cushy gig after all. But, then the man had decided that Grif would make a better errand boy for him than anything else.

Did Grif fucking look like a guy who wanted to be walking all over town? It was the worst judgement call ever. Obviously, his boss didn’t know how to read people. At all.

Thanks to that huge-ass delay in traffic, his boss had an opportunity to send his _“favorite”_ errand boy on some kind of a spying mission to the scheduled meeting between the Armonians, the Freelancers, and some other random soldiers at the base.

…Fucking perfect.

The chubby man made his way to the training hall as leisurely and slowly as he could, noting that there was hardly anyone inside the large space as he approached the doors. Grif could make out maybe five people in total from where he was standing. He frowned, wondering if maybe he had gotten the time or location wrong…

Suddenly the ground was practically shaking beneath him as a stampede of feet ran past him in a practical dust cloud, cries of _“Move it, Red!”_ and _“Suck it, ya dirty Blue!”_ heard coming from the crowd. Grif was pushed hard against the wall and nearly toppled over, seeing stars in his vision.

“Are you all right?” A voice asked him from close by, and he turned around to see an oddly familiar-looking redhead staring at him with mild concern plastered over his freckled features.

Said redhead’s face fell when he seemed to recognize Grif, and Grif couldn’t help but swear when he saw the coffee stains on the guy’s shirt.

…Fucking perfect indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the Dreamwidth comm whole_new_world, using the “Traffic Delay” prompt. This Workplace/Job AU called _Hostile Merger_ will be a series of interconnected stories featuring prompts from that comm that will (hopefully!) turn into a multi-chapter fic. Lol, I must secretly hate myself for wanting to do five ongoing stories at once. Wish me luck! :D
> 
> Pairings that I definitely know I’m doing in this fic are Grimmons, Bitthews, Chex, Lolix, Sarge x Grey, Docnut, Sheila x Lopez, Kai x Volleyball, and Palomo x Jensen. I’m still debating on some of the other pairings, which is why you don’t see any mention of characters like Tucker, Washington, Carolina, and Kimball in the pairings list yet. I’ll let you know what I decide regarding them later. XD


	2. Fateful Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Richard “Dick” Simmons could scarcely believe his shitty luck. The guy who had nearly been run over in the stampede caused by the other Reds and their rivals the Blues was the very same asshole who had spilled all of that coffee on him in the morning. Sure Valhalla was a small as fuck military town, but the redhead still viewed this as the universe’s twisted joke. He fucking knew the universe was out to get him. Here was his proof!

The coffee spilling jackass seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Simmons as the heavyset man in orange rubbed the back of his head and laughed, “Small world, right?”

If the question was somehow meant to blow over what had happened between them earlier, it didn’t work. The man’s dark eyes lingered on the still present coffee stains, mocking the once pristine maroon sweater vest ensemble Simmons had put together specifically for today.

Simmons’ green eyes narrowed in annoyance, and he couldn’t help but let out an abrupt _“Tsk!”_ under his breath as he headed towards the doors to the now full training hall. Everyone else had already clustered into groups inside the designated meeting space.

“Well, this day is off to a great fucking start.” Simmons couldn’t help but overhear the coffee spilling man mutter lazily behind him.

Simmons angled his head so he could see out of the corner of his green-eyed gaze that the orange-wearing stranger was still rubbing the back of his head apathetically, a gesture that clearly proved he didn’t really give a fuck what was going on there. Everything about the chubby man seemed to indicate he was just going through the motions. Simmons found himself annoyed all over again, and moved his gaze so that he could see the others in the room. 

His eyes first landed on Tex, a mercenary and former Freelancer, talking to both Caboose and Church, two of the Blues. Tex always made him uneasy, although the truth was that the blonde terrified the shit out of everyone in the ASS Building whenever she visited it. She paused briefly to smirk at Simmons, an act that caused the redheaded man to blanch and quickly look elsewhere. The black-armored woman always seemed to get a rise out of making him squirm.

A bored-looking Felix and an attentive Locus, two other infamous mercenaries at the base, were standing off to the side. Upon catching his eye, Felix mock-waved at Simmons. The action resulted in Simmons feeling even more nervous than he had before with Tex. If such a thing were possible. Which Simmons was guessing it was since Felix and Locus scared the shit out of him.

The maroon-wearing man quickly averted his gaze to find Donut on the other side of the large, expansive space. The younger man was talking animatedly with Tucker, another Blue, and Doc about something that apparently involved a lot of choreography. When his pink-wearing Red coworker noticed that Simmons was looking around out of sorts, he took pity on him and tried exuberantly waving the taller man over. Simmons frowned, not sure if he wanted to join them yet as a loud cry of _“Simmons! Hey, Simmons! Over here!”_ erupted in a singsong voice. The redhead’s face went warm in embarrassment, and he instantly moved his eyes elsewhere.

His eyes settled on Sarge and Doctor Grey in the midst of a conversation together. Their proximity was to be expected given how close the two had become recently, bonding as they had over future potential robotic surgeries and the like. It seemed that they had even managed to pull a reluctant Lopez and the Blues’ android Sheila into the fray.

Simmons was about to go over to the group and see if there was anything that Sarge might need help with when a sudden frown appeared on the older man’s face. For a split-second, Simmons feared that the disappointment on Sarge’s face was somehow directed towards him. Simmons breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed that the Red Team leader’s brown eyes were actually narrowed at something directly behind the redhead instead.

Simmons cautiously turned around, surprised to note that the man in orange from before had just lazily followed him as he traversed the training hall. The coffee spilling man was apparently aware of the glare being thrown his way, but seemed wholly unperturbed by the attention.

“What did you do to Sarge?” The question was past Simmons’ lips before he could stop it, and he instantly regretted starting a conversation with the object of Sarge’s wrath.

The tan-skinned man seemed slightly surprised that the lanky, coffee-stained redhead had deigned to talk to him, though he quickly covered it up with a lazy shrug, “Nothing.” The heavyset man responded casually enough, “I used to work for the old coot before I realized he was bat-shit nuts and got transferred.”

Simmons bristled at the choice of words, coming quickly to his superior’s defense, “Sarge isn’t crazy!”

The tan-skinned man raised an eyebrow in amusement, “Keep telling yourself that, kiss-ass.”

However, before Simmons could respond, the Freelancer in cyan armor known as Agent Carolina disengaged herself from her discussion with her teammate, Agent Washington. Her green eyes swept over the training hall before she began to speak, assessing the people there. If her expression was anything to go by, Carolina was clearly not impressed.

*****

“As soon as the Armonians arrive, we will begin the demonstration.” Carolina’s authoritative voice filled the entire training hall, “Until then, stay here and wait.”

Leonard Church couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes at the cyan-armored woman’s proclamation, “This is such bullshit.”

Unfortunately for Church, he was standing close enough to his older sister that she heard him. Green eyes turned to fix him with a regarding stare, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin and instinctively shield his balls.

“People who were late themselves shouldn’t complain about anyone else’s punctuality or lack thereof, Church.” She stated evenly, the underlining tone of her voice one of agitation.

Okay, well… _maybe_ that was true. But, Church could never _not_ complain when given the opportunity to do so. It was like it was in his genetic code to be pissed off at the world or some shit. A genetic code that Carolina noticeably shared half of. He frowned, noting her stiff, uneasy posture and narrowed eyes.

“Are you okay?” Church asked in concern, “You seem mad. Madder than usual, I mean.”

Carolina didn’t snap out an _“I’m fine!”_ like he halfway expected her to. Instead, she blinked in mild surprise at his statement and even made a bit of effort to try to relax her body language some. Church couldn’t help but be in awe at how the redhead made _“appear relaxed”_ look uncomfortable as hell.

“I’m more annoyed by the current situation than anything else, Church.” Carolina noted at length before sharing a weak, sort-of smile at her sibling that looked incredibly painful but was no doubt meant to come across as reassuring, “I’ll be fine once things get underway.”

With that, she stalked off awkwardly to go back to where her partner, Washington, stood. Church shook his dark-haired head at what a terrible liar his sister was. She was almost as bad at that as she was at relaxing. Or singing. Or joking.

Tex noticed the lingering frown on Church’s face as his eyes followed Carolina, “Give your sister a break this time, Church.” The blonde advised him in a tone that was surprisingly gentler than he expected it would be coming from her, “Trying to play nice with some of the people who possibly helped take down your unit is a hard thing to do.”

Church’s frown only deepened at the reminder, “I fucking know that, Tex.” He muttered, letting out a tired sigh, “I just hope she’ll be all right.”

Knowing Carolina? Even if she wasn’t, she would try burying that hurt down so deeply with her work that even _she_ probably wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, it will be all right, Church!” Caboose exclaimed enthusiastically in an effort to help out his best friend, “Your scary-but-not-so-scary sister is a strong lady!”

Truthfully, Church couldn’t really argue with Caboose’s logic. Carolina certainly was strong. The problem was that she never wanted to be anything but that.

*****

Donut’s pestering _finally_ managed to get Simmons’ full attention following Carolina’s announcement, though that had more to do with the redhead _really_ not wanting to die on the spot from sheer embarrassment due to all of the _“Simmons! Over here! Hey!”_ singsong shouts coming from across the training hall.

“Oh, good!” Donut remarked happily as he saw the redhead approach, “I wasn’t sure you had heard me!”

Simmons had to bite back a remark about how he was fairly certain that the entire hall and even Valhalla beyond had heard the dirty blond-haired man’s shouts. Thankfully, Doc beat him to talking first, “Good to see you made it, Simmons.” Doc told him, tilting his head slightly to the side as his brown eyes regarded something behind the redhead, “Who’s your new friend?”

Simmons spun around to see who Doc was referring to. Much to his growing chagrin, the man who had spilled coffee on him earlier and who had the audacity to insult Sarge, had followed Simmons like a bored puppy.

Before Simmons could respond with an appropriate _“He’s not my friend!”_ the orange-wearing man gave a lazy wave in response to the group’s regard, “What’s up?”

“Oh, cool. “ Tucker said, clearly not minding the surprising add-on in the slightest, “You already know Grif.”

“You two know each other?” Simmons asked, casting an inquisitive glance between the tan-skinned man apparently named _Grif_ and Tucker.

He probably should have figured that would be the case. Tucker knew some weirdos. There was no way that the chubby man had been following Simmons around because he was interested in him. He was just heading towards one of the people he knew, who happened to be where Simmons ended up.

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been sort-of friends since when?” Tucker frowned in thought, “Our transfers here or some shit.”

Grif nodded his head haphazardly, as if he was only slightly invested in the conversation, “Something like that.”

“Dude, how’s Kai?” Tucker inquired not a second later. Evidently the teal-wearing man was bored by whatever conversation he had been having with Donut and Doc before and relished the chance to talk with anyone else, even if that person was a lazy acquaintance who had an air of _“I don’t give a fuck”_ about him.

“Same old, same old. Still embarrassing the family.” Grif couldn’t help but smile slightly though, his brown eyes having a proud light in them that beamed behind the apathetic stare, “Her concert business is apparently doing well.”

“Shit, dude, that’s awesome!” Tucker exclaimed, and it seemed like there was a lot about the conversation that went over the heads of everyone else listening in since they didn’t know who the hell the two men were talking about.

Grif shrugged indifferently to his comment, back to seemingly not giving a fuck, “How’s Junior doing?”

The maroon-wearing man’s ears perked up at the familiar name. At least Simmons _knew_ who Junior was. Not only because he had met the boy on occasion, but also because Tucker’s young son was one of the only children on the base.

Junior was the last clone to have been born in Valhalla at all, in fact.

“He’s doing fucking great!” Tucker replied, beaming proudly at the chance to gush about his pride and joy more.

Despite only barely knowing Junior and having no fucking clue who _“Kai”_ was, Simmons found himself listening in on the conversation as it continued with an odd sense of looming curiosity. He tried telling himself that it was only because there wasn’t much else to do, unless he wanted to join in on Donut and Doc’s discussion regarding the benefits of bathing salts. Which he didn’t. At all.

The doors to the training hall finally opened once more, and the small group of Armonians made their grand entrance.

Simmons couldn’t help but glance around at the surprised reactions from everyone else once the conversations going on around them had died down at the intrusion. Grif visibly stiffened nearby in particular. Not that he could blame the tan-skinned man as his own mouth gaped open in shock.

_This_ was the Armonian delegation that would be residing here in Valhalla while peace talks were going on?

There was only a woman in tan armor with an ice-colored trim standing before them. She was surrounded by a bunch of teenagers in the tan armor of Armonia with various colored trims too, though the one with blue trim seemed as if he might be slightly older than the rest.

Before anyone could say anything potentially disruptive or stupid, Agent Carolina once again took charge of the situation by clearing her throat loudly to gain everyone’s attention. “Good. Now, we can begin.” She stated without preamble.

*****

The so-called _“demonstration”_ in the training hall? Well, it was more or less simply a showcase of all the various ways that the two Freelancers and the three mercenaries in their midst were capable of killing someone through either hand-to-hand combat or with a multitude of different weapons.

It was absolutely perfect for making Dexter Grif or any of the other _“soldiers”_ watching feel wholly inadequate regarding their own skills by comparison. More importantly, Grif figured it served as a reminder to the Armonians about what the _“elite”_ of Valhalla could do to help keep them in line during their stay here.

The kids who had surprisingly been assigned to the Armonian group didn’t seem to catch on to this hidden message though. They watched the display in open-mouthed awe. They were around his sister’s age. Grif tried not to think about what Kai could be up to in Blood Gulch right about now when he stared at them.

The message, however, had apparently not been lost on the dark-skinned older woman who had accompanied the teens. During the display Grif noticed something unreadable flash in her brown eyes, though she managed to school her expression into a polite frown all the same.

Evidently, during their stay here, the group of newcomers were going to be assigned to follow around either the Red or Blue Teams for _“training and observational purposes.”_ Basically, they were being given a pointless assignment. Considering what little everyone in those groups actually did that was worthwhile, Grif knew a busy work ploy when he saw one. That was why the Reds’ and Blues’ presences had been mandatory for the _“show.”_

It was also announced that the Armonian delegation would receive special combat training from Carolina and even Washington on occasion too, a fact that Carolina in particular didn’t seem too pleased by if the frown pursing her lips was any indication. Truthfully, it was hard to tell with the cyan-armored woman. She never looked particularly pleased.

As everyone started drifting off to get their assignments, Grif figured that now was probably as good a time as any to leave and report back to his boss. He groaned inwardly at the notion. As boring as things were here, he would much rather stand around doing nothing than go back to a thoroughly thankless job. But, what could he do? If he came back any later, his superior was liable to get impatient and that could only mean worse things for him in the long run.

Grif left just as the guy that he had spilled coffee on earlier, Simmons _(why was that name so familiar?)_ , and his pink-wearing teammate Donut were introduced to the two Armonian girls who would evidently be helping Red Team out for a while. He laughed inwardly as he overheard the maroon sweater vest wearing man’s flustered attempt at talking to the girls. What a fucking nerd.

*****

Antoine Bitters wasn’t at all sure of what to do with the information that he and Matthews would be shadowing some bodyguard during their stay in Valhalla. The young man with multi-colored hair frowned. Playing bodyguard was definitely not what he had expected when he had been chosen for this _“important peacekeeping mission.”_

Granted, it wasn’t like he had known much of anything about the assignment from the start. His superiors had been sparse on details, and he had been too annoyed at his mandatory selection to inquire. Keeping up his sullen attitude had suited him just fine, so Bitters hadn’t even bothered asking their mission leader Kimball anything either. In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the best decision he could have made. But, it was what it was now.

The guy that they were supposed to be shadowing did not seem to be at the meeting. Everyone else from the Armonian delegation was already getting introduced to their teams and superiors, but no one had even bothered to approach him or Matthews yet.

That served Bitters just fine, as it meant he could put off going to work for these Valhalla assholes for a little while longer. Yeah, he had gotten the underlining meaning of the display from earlier. Thanks to that _“show,”_ he wasn’t convinced these _“peacekeeping”_ duties would amount to shit in the long run.

The situation wasn’t sitting so well with Matthews though, with the bespectacled auburn-haired young man nervously fidgeting next to Bitters. Apparently the two were going to be partners yet again, as they had been ever since they were first stationed together.

Truthfully, the idea of the yellow-trimmed lieutenant being a guard of any sort was downright laughable. …Then again, it was hard for Bitters to picture the younger teenager as a soldier at all. This fucking war really was fucked up beyond imagination if someone like Matthews had been forced into it.

Bitters couldn’t help but let out a sigh when Matthews’ twitching became too much of an annoyance to outright ignore anymore, “Dude, fucking chill out.”

“But…!” Matthews turned to him as he trailed off, eyes wide and looking positively scandalized by the suggestion.

Bitters couldn’t help but sigh again as he rolled his eyes and tried to think of a convincing enough argument to get Matthews to see things his way, “You’ll need your wits about you for the mission.”

It was utter bullshit since all they had been assigned was pointless busy work, but his words seemed to do the trick. Matthews tried his hardest to visibly relax. What a fucking kiss-ass.

“You’re…you’re right, Bitters!” Matthews told him, a thankful smile blooming across his face, “Thanks!”

“Welcome.” Bitters was just grateful that his ruse had fucking worked. He did his best to quell down the odd feeling of _elation_ that had suddenly risen in his chest at the sight of the other lieutenant’s smile.

Instead of focusing on that odd sensation, he decided to wonder just what it was he had ever done in his life to get so invariably stuck with the yellow-trimmed suck-up. Though he supposed it could be worse. After all, he _could_ be Andersmith…stuck with Palomo once again.

_“Oh, yeah! We’ll file the shit out of things, sir!”_ Bitters heard the aqua-trimmed lieutenant in question exclaim loudly from the other side of the room where Palomo was no doubt meeting one of his Blue Team mentors.

Suddenly, being stuck with Matthews for the duration of this pointless assignment didn’t seem so bad.

*****

Lavernius Tucker couldn’t help but groan in exasperation at the exclamation that had just come out of Charles Palomo’s mouth right after Blue Team had been officially introduced to their two Armonian _“helpers.”_

Andersmith, the older of the two, seemed all right. Beyond being oddly ecstatic over what seemed to be pointless busy work, that is. But, the younger teenager named Palomo? Tucker could already tell that he was going to drive him up the wall.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” He muttered mostly to himself even though he knew it had been loud enough to be heard by others, a hand resting on his head to rub at an oncoming migraine.

…Because, they just _had_ to be, right? There was no way anyone had seriously thought an idea this dumb would lead to lasting peace between both sides.

Tex smirked at the frustration that was evident on both Tucker and Church’s faces then, “Afraid not, Tucker.” She informed him before patting the two Armonians in a comradely fashion on the shoulder, “Enjoy yourselves, kiddos. Let me know if these morons give you any trouble.” The blonde joked as she motioned towards Blue Team.

“Of course, ma’am!” Andersmith said as he actually _saluted_ her. What the actual fuck?

Church groaned, rolling his eyes in his girlfriend’s direction, “You just love making my life even more miserable, don’t you?”

Tex’s smirk only widened, “Of course.”

“Bitch.” Church said, giving his girlfriend the finger for good measure.

Then, with introductions over, Tex waved at all of them before sauntering off to join her fellow mercenary buddies, Felix and Locus. Both of whom, Tucker had noted, were staying clear of the young Armonians despite carefully observing them all the same.

Tucker could relate in a way. It was sort-of unnerving seeing so many teenagers in one place. That didn’t happen in Valhalla due to the population limits. The fact that these kids were soldiers besides? Well, it left a bitter taste in his mouth that he tried his best to ignore. Was _this_ the fate that was in store for Junior, years down the line? It _better_ fucking not be!

Caboose, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to all of the bigger pictures looming overhead of them. The blue-wearing man smiled cheerfully at Blue Team’s two designated helpers from the Armonia region of Chorus, “It is always awesome to meet new friends!” He informed them happily with a nod of his blond head, “I can’t wait until you meet Sheila! She is very nice.”

Sheila was currently hanging out with Red Team, most likely on account of Lopez. Tucker knew a match when he saw one, even amongst androids. She was also helping Donut and Simmons with introducing the two female lieutenants from Armonia to Sarge. Socially awkward Simmons couldn’t even freaking talk to girls, so that was borderline amusing at least.

Figures that Blue Team wouldn’t get the chicks, even if they were a bit too young for Tucker to make an actual move on. In a year or two, he’d be all for hitting on the athletic-looking blonde with the pink trim though. Again, he lamented that Blue Team seemed to be getting the suckier Armonian recruits.

The dark-skinned man watched Caboose drag the two Armonian males over in the direction of Red Team, and Palomo’s brown eyes lit up at the sight of the freckled girl standing there in particular, “Sweet! I can’t wait to tell Jensen about my assignment!”

That left a dumbfounded Tucker alone with a grumpy-as-always Church. Tucker watched them go and shook his head in bewilderment, “Can you believe this? He’s not even crushing on the hot chick. There’s no hope for them!”

Church shrugged his shoulders indifferently, “I’ve gotten to the point where I call bullshit on pretty much everything, Tucker.” He informed him matter-of-factly. Then his eyes landed on something over his coworker’s shoulder and he frowned, “Like what’s heading towards us right now.”

Tucker, confused by what Church meant, quickly turned around. He was surprised to find that the steel-and-yellow-armored Freelancer called Agent Washington was just a few steps behind him. His gray eyes went to the sword hilt at Tucker’s belt before glancing up at his questioning face.

“You must be Lavernius Tucker.” Washington stated without preamble, clearly unimpressed.

Tucker shot a confused glance over towards Church, though the goateed man had already disengaged himself from the conversation by suddenly finding the ground incredibly interesting. Asshole.

He honestly couldn’t recall ever having spoken to Washington before, so Tucker raised a questioning eyebrow as he turned back around to the expectant Freelancer, “Yeah, I am. Why do you care exactly?” He asked before grinning, “Did you happen to hear about my kickass skills?”

Washington rolled his gray eyes, “Hardly.” He told the younger man, nodding his head slightly as he did so, “I just wanted to meet the person I would be responsible for training while Carolina is responsible for the Armonians.”

_That_ made absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever, a fact that Tucker couldn’t help but illustrate out loud by blinking in confusion, “Say what?”

Washington, however, chose not to repeat himself, “We start tomorrow. Meet me here in the morning when you come in for work.”

The blond then turned to leave, but Tucker was just a step behind him: “This is bullshit!”

“I agree,” Washington replied as he stopped once more, eyes going back to the sword hilt at Tucker’s side, “But, then again, I wasn’t the one chosen by a mysterious alien artifact.”

Tucker rolled his eyes, “Oh, big fucking deal! I fell in a hole and accidentally touched something.”

Seriously, why was he being punished for that? Tucker had just had a half-hour demonstration of what this guy was capable of, and he wanted Junior to grow up with a dad still alive and kicking, okay? Thanks.

“What an impressive story.” Washington said sarcastically, clearly not thrilled with the notion of training Tucker either. Oddly enough, that pissed Tucker off even more because, fuck it! He was good company. Washington sighed, “If you want to complain about it more, then I suggest going to the higher ups.” He told Tucker, “Though I can’t imagine that you’ll have any better luck than I did.”

When Tucker sputtered indignantly at that remark, Washington promptly disengaged himself from the conversation with the dark-skinned younger man, “Training begins tomorrow. In the morning.”

As Tucker watched the Freelancer go, Church rejoined him. “This is absolute bullshit.” He couldn’t help repeating to himself in disbelief, although his cobalt-wearing coworker overheard it.

Church nodded, “Yeah.” He stated, “Oh well. Sucks to be you, dude.” He told him before unhelpfully patting Tucker on the back and walking off seemingly without a care in the world.

*****

While everyone else in the training hall scattered, Agent Carolina put away some of the training equipment that had been used in the earlier demonstrations. She figured doing so would help put her unease to rest, as staying active so often did. That was one of the reasons why Washington and Church nagged her about rest so much, as if they were people who should be giving anyone else advice on that subject.

The redhead heard the fall of footsteps from behind her. She assumed that it was Washington coming by to assist her after having informed Lavernius Tucker of the Blue Team about his new assignment, “I’ve already moved most of the larger pieces.” She started without turning around, “I don’t need any help.”

“I know. Very impressive.” An unfamiliar, female voice noted. Definitely not Washington.

Carolina stiffened and turned around, coming face-to-face with Vanessa Kimball, the leader of the Armonian group. At least it wasn’t one of the teenagers. She was already dreading how awkward tomorrow morning was going to be. The Freelancer wasn’t exactly the greatest when it came to dealing with children.

Kimball gave her a curt nod in greeting, “That whole display was pretty impressive, actually.”

“Thank you.” Carolina shifted on her feet awkwardly. A people person, she was not. Communication was not one of her strengths, which was why she always tried to limit how much she engaged in it.

Kimball seemed to catch on to that fact quick, as she moved the conversation along expertly, “I’ve been assigned to work with you during our stay here.”

Right. Carolina had been informed of that already. She supposed that made sense since technically Kimball was in charge of the younger soldiers and Carolina would be overseeing their morning drills.

Carolina glanced around the training hall and frowned, taking note of where the Armonians were, “They seem a bit young for this kind of mission, don’t you think?” She surprised herself by blurting out.

It wasn’t like her to voice her concerns to a total stranger, and Carolina certainly shouldn’t be doing so when it regarded the other side of an ongoing war that had only barely paused. But, still, she knew firsthand how training kids to fight fucked them up.

From the momentary look glossing over Kimball’s brown eyes as she also glanced around the training hall, it seemed as if she was in agreement with Carolina’s assessment. “They were assigned because no one besides me volunteered to come to Valhalla.” She explained softly, a sad sort-of smile on her face.

“Oh.” Carolina couldn’t think of what to say, though she nodded her head in quiet understanding.

Kimball continued, letting out a tired sigh: “Every one of us who came here hopes that the exchange program will help bring about lasting peace.”

It was an admirable goal, but…

Carolina frowned, “I’m not sure how busy work is going to accomplish much in the long run.” She admitted to the other woman.

There was a flash of determination across Kimball’s face just then, “It’s the best chance we’ve had in a long while.” She stated emphatically.

True enough. After all, so long as the group remained in Valhalla, the ceasefire would hold and peace talks, ostensibly, would begin. It was a long shot to be sure, but Kimball had the right of it. Even if Carolina herself still wasn’t sure that true peace would ever be attainable between the two groups, especially given just how long the fighting had been going on. It had started well before her own birth, after all. So many generations had only known war.

Both women regarded one another for a moment until Kimball cleared her throat and motioned to the few pieces of training equipment that were still out in the open, “Mind if I help?”

Yes, she did. Carolina could do this on her own. But, she watched Washington walk towards her as her green eyes glanced around to the people still scattered about the training hall before returning to Kimball. The Armonian was waiting for an answer, so the redhead simply nodded her head in response.

*****

Grif stood in uncomfortable attention in front of his commanding officer: an older, decorated soldier whose name he had yet to bother learning. The orange-wearing man couldn’t be positive, but he thought his boss’ name was something that was similar to Simon. But, it wasn’t because that would have been too fucking easy.

Grif had just finished going over his report, and there was a frown on Not!Simon’s face as he processed it. At length, the older man pressed his fingers together over his desk, “That wasn’t very thorough.” He noted disapprovingly, in that unimpressed tone he always seemed to use around his bodyguard.

The chubby man couldn’t help but roll his eyes upon noticing that the man’s gaze was focused on the wall behind him and not directly on his person. Jackass. “Sorry, sir.” He stated, not really caring at all in the slightest.

If he noted the underlying sarcasm in Grif’s voice, the older man chose not to comment on it. Instead, his commanding officer shrugged his shoulders as if the matter was of little consequence to him in the grand scheme of things.

“Until these peace talks inevitably fail and the Armonians leave, you have been given a new assignment.” Grif’s boss stated directly, “Helping to mentor two of their _lieutenants_.” The distasteful way he said that last word showcased just what he thought of the young soldiers who had come to Valhalla.

So, Grif was getting assigned yet another babysitting job without any say in the matter. No doubt it was because his superior wanted to keep close tabs on the _“enemy”_ without raising the ire of the staff here in Valhalla who were actually pushing for the peace talks. Grif thought it sounded like a pain in the ass, but he knew better than to argue.

“The job also means that you will have to be reassigned until its duration.” Not!Simon continued, “I refuse to have Armonians anywhere near this office and, this way, your _skills_ will be best served elsewhere.”

Grif thought he detected sarcasm in the man’s voice at that last part, but he again knew better than to comment on it. Besides, it served him better if the guy in front of him with the graying hair thought he was a good-for-nothing.

“So, when exactly would this reassignment be taking place? _Sir_.” Grif found himself asking, not particularly caring either way.

Before Not!Simon could respond, there was a hesitant knock on the door. It opened tentatively, a recently familiar shock of red hair poking inside before _Simmons_ of all people fully entered the office.

Simmons saluted as the door shut behind him, his voice an odd mixture of both hopefulness and trepidation as he asked: “Y—you wanted to see me, sir?”

The older man’s eyes flickered disapprovingly to the very visible coffee stains on Simmons’ maroon sweater before he smiled thinly in response to the question that had been asked of him. Okay, Grif _did_ feel a bit guilty about the spilled coffee when he saw Simmons flinch slightly at his commanding officer’s regard. Poor guy looked like he had been physically hit with the disdainful stare that Not!Simon had sent his way.

However, instead of answering Simmons’ question, the older man turned his attention to Grif, “Have you had the chance yet to meet my son?”

The heavyset man grimaced as it suddenly became obvious why Simmons’ name had seemed familiar. 

Both Grif and Simmons stared at one another, muttering _“Oh, fuck me.”_ under their breaths at the exact same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter of my Workplace/Job AU written for the Dreamwidth comm whole_new_world using the “Fateful Encounter” prompt. Things are picking up already now that the characters have all been pretty much introduced to one another! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter out, so it ended up being one of my longer recent ones (though I suspect most of the chapters for this story will end up being longer ones when all is said and done)! :)
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this! :D


	3. Unhappy Customer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Richard “Dick” Simmons waited until after the door to his father’s office had closed fully behind him to really allow the panic and anxiety that he was feeling to sink in. Given that his father tended to still scare the crap out of him, he considered not instantly succumbing to his terror a rather impressive accomplishment. The maroon-wearing man took in a few quick and shaky breaths in rapid succession, suddenly feeling light-headed.

“Is that really necessary?” Dexter Grif asked as he watched Simmons from where he was standing close by, clearly somewhat amused by the other’s actions.

The redhead turned quickly to the heavyset man and, remembering that Grif was also a part of the problem, glared, “Of course it is!” Simmons said, wincing when he heard his voice’s noticeable rise in pitch, “I don’t need _or_ want bodyguards in my line of work! Why aren’t you upset by how much of a gigantic waste of time these orders are?”

Grif looked down the corridor they were standing in, shrugging his shoulders, “I honestly don’t give a shit about my job, so why should this sudden change in orders upset me?”

“Th—that’s…!” _Totally irresponsible_ , Simmons wanted to say but found that he couldn’t. After all, it wasn’t as if Grif _didn’t_ have a point, even if it didn’t mesh with Simmons’ own work ethic.

“Besides,” Grif continued, “This whole thing is meant to be a giant fucking waste of time.”

“Wh—what do you mean?” Simmons said as he frowned at the orange-wearing man’s words. 

Grif sighed before spelling it out to the pale-skinned man, “Your dad has no faith in this exchange program to begin with. He’s _really_ hoping it fails.” He told Simmons matter-of-factly, “He wants everyone participating to be in one location, so that it is easier to tell when and where things go south. What better location than the ASS Building for that?”

“That—that isn’t true!” Simmons rather lamely tried defending his father, if only because he felt he should as a good son.

However, in his mind he carefully mulled over Grif’s words. If he was being honest, he recognized a slight element of truth to them. After all, his father often expressed his distaste of the exchange program… Would he even throw his own son under the bus as a result of that? Simmons felt sick to his stomach at the realization that his father probably would.

“Whatever, dude.” Grif’s entire appearance was one of nonchalance, and Simmons couldn’t help but envy him a little for it, “The new location and having to supervise your boring nerd ass is going to be a hassle, but really? No skin off my back either way.”

Before Simmons could open his mouth to respond, the tan-skinned man turned to leave. Grif paused his steps for just a moment to call over his shoulder, “Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. Want to get some coffee beforehand?”

The smirk in his voice was enough to cause Simmons to mutter something unintelligible and wholly impolite under his breath. Grif grinned in response.

With a careless wave directed over his shoulder towards the redhead, the orange-wearing bodyguard left the hallway. Simmons continued to stand there, staring at the door to his father’s office, completely unsure of what to think of the situation as his hands clenched to fists at his sides.

*****

Agent Carolina sat in a back corner of a local bar, nursing her fourth drink. The redhead wasn’t particularly invested in drinking, but she also wasn’t really in a hurry to go home to her empty, sparsely decorated apartment just yet.

“How many does this glass make?” A familiar voice suddenly asked from right in front of her, causing her to look up from the rim of her drink.

David Washington stood in direct eyesight across from her table, his own glass in hand. He flashed her a slight, conspiratorial sort-of smile before he motioned wordlessly to the chair by his side. Carolina nodded her head, giving him permission to sit down. He did so with practiced ease.

“Not nearly enough.” She finally retorted to his earlier question, taking another careful sip. The liquor in the glass didn’t burn her throat going down as much as she had hoped it would.

“It’s a bit of a surprise seeing you here at all, since we’re going to be having an early start tomorrow.” Washington noted as he watched her frowning down at her glass as if it had somehow personally offended her.

Carolina raised a red eyebrow, “Do you think that’s going to be a problem, Wash?” She asked him, an obviously distinct note of challenge in her voice.

“No, I know how well you can hold your liquor.” Washington answered, quickly shaking his head.

“Which brings us to why _you’re_ here, then.” Carolina remarked slyly.

“Looks like I’ve been busted.” Washington noticeably deflated, gray eyes flicking to the table in a sheepish manner that reminded the woman sitting across from him of when he had been the unsure, goofy rookie of their Freelancer team, “I just really needed a drink too, given what we’re getting into.”

“The Armonians being so young was certainly a big shock.” She agreed, tapping the table’s surface impatiently with her finger, “Just what in the hell were the governments thinking with this exchange program?”

If things went south, and there was a very high chance that they would, then the group of young soldiers would be virtual hostages in enemy territory. That knowledge loomed constantly over her shoulders, making her feel rather uneasy.

“It seems like it was a last ditch effort on both sides,” Washington said as he nodded his head in agreement before voicing a similar sentiment, “And one that they probably don’t have much faith in. Why else would they involve the Reds and Blues too?”

Carolina couldn’t help but smirk at his remark, “Try telling that to Church.”

Her brother could get confrontational over the strangest of things, though she supposed she wasn’t one to talk on that front.

Washington regarded the slight smile that had appeared on her face then for a few moments, “Maybe it will be a nice change of pace for you. You’ll get the chance to talk to him on a regular basis again.”

The two Freelancers had been so busy lately running missions that he knew Carolina and Church hadn’t been talking often. Though whether or not the two siblings had been subconsciously keeping things that way, the blond couldn’t say for certain. After all, the Church household was complicated.

Carolina’s lips curved upwards slightly as she once more grabbed ahold of her glass, “You always were the one to try to see the silver lining to things when you could.” She noted, a nostalgic glimmer suddenly floating in her green eyes.

“Not anymore.” Washington muttered glumly.

The two of them went quiet then, both thinking of the losses of their comrades. At length, Carolina brought her glass to her mouth and took a giant swig from it. She was still not completely satisfied with the subsequent throat burn and made a mental note to ask the bartender for something stronger next.

“We’ve never gone out drinking before.” She noted thoughtfully as she put her glass back down on its waiting coaster, “Just the two of us. Like this, I mean.”

Washington nodded his head in agreement, “Is it…weird?” He asked carefully a second later, “Given everything?”

After all, they had usually gone out to places like this as a unit. _All_ of them. Or even just York and Carolina alone…

Carolina thought about Washington’s question for possibly a moment longer than she should have before finally shaking her head, “No, it really isn’t.” She informed him, “It’s oddly nice. Nostalgic, in a way. But, different.”

Washington said nothing to that, sighing instead before awkwardly standing up from the table, “We should probably get going if we don’t want to be hungover tomorrow.” He smirked wryly, “I have a feeling that the irony of that would not be lost on Tucker.”

Carolina nodded her head in quiet agreement, “I’ll be leaving soon.” She assured her teammate, “I just want to think some more.”

The blond shot her a look that she couldn’t quite identify before he gave her a slight nod and left, leaving her alone to her thoughts.

*****

Washington felt his eye begin to twitch at the sight of the two teal-wearing figures moving towards him across the training grounds. Not only was Lavernius Tucker more than ten minutes late for his training, but apparently he had his young son in tow too.

The Freelancer couldn’t help but remark with _“You’re late.”_ as soon as they were within earshot, assuming that it would be ignored.

“Yeah, I know, but what could I do?” Tucker stated as soon as they were standing in front of the older man, gripping his son’s hand in a protective grip, “School was canceled at the last minute for some bullshit reason and my usual babysitter wasn’t available.” He looked up at Washington with a hopeful look in his brown eyes, “But _maybe_ if you gave me another minute, I could head on over to the ASS Building and get someone there to watch Junior while we get this training bullshit over with. Like Doc?”

Washington frowned. They had already lost quite a bit of time, which he would have to unfortunately take out of squats and pullups most likely, and the idea of losing even _more_ time struck him as quite unprofessional. He sighed, “I’ll look after Junior while you run your laps as scheduled.”

The skeptical glance that passed between father and son at the Freelancer’s suggestion was impossible to miss. The blond-haired man felt his eye twitch again. “I am perfectly capable of watching a child.” He told them both tersely.

Tucker looked infuriatingly doubtful, but gave a slight nod of his head all the same, “Right…” He said a moment later, “Sorry, I must have been thinking of Carolina and Tex as being the Freelancers who weren’t great with kids.”

It wasn’t as though Washington was phenomenal with them himself, but he realized saying that now would completely put Tucker on edge. Instead, he focused on another thing that Tucker had said, a frown firmly in place: “Tex isn’t a Freelancer anymore.”

“Dude, to us normal guys? Once a Freelancer, always a Freelancer.” Tucker informed Washington, though his brown eyes darted around nervously a second later, “Not that I would ever tell Carolina that.”

Well, at least it seemed as if the younger man had some survival instincts. Maybe this wouldn’t be entirely pointless after all.

Washington sighed again, “Would you _please_ just get started already?”

Tucker had the audacity to actually roll his eyes (and there went Washington’s eye twitch again), “Yeah, yeah. I’m going!” He grinned down at Junior, “You ready to watch your old man kick ass?”

“Yeah!” Junior grinned up at him proudly.

Tucker started his laps while Washington and Junior stood quietly to the side, observing. It was awkward as shit. Washington might be better with kids than either Carolina or Tex were, but there was still loads of room for improvement. Finally, he broke the awkward silence by shifting on his feet and asking, “How long do you think it will be before your dad starts complaining about leg cramps?”

Junior pondered the question rather carefully for a few minutes, “Twenty minutes.” He concluded, a waggle of his eyebrows following the remark, “Is there money to go with that bet?”

Washington couldn’t help but return the smile that was being thrown his way. He definitely knew without a doubt that he was dealing with Tucker’s son.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Freelancer saw Carolina bring in the kids from Armonia following their running warmup. Though he knew from their conversation last night that the cyan-wearing woman was still awkward around the rookies, it didn’t show on her face or in her mannerisms just then at all. Like always, he couldn’t help but be impressed by her demeanor.

Carolina caught his gaze and looked him straight in the eye, green meeting gray. The two nodded to one another as she got ready to dismiss her charges so that they could meet up with the Reds and Blues.

*****

“Man,” Antoine Bitters groaned, “That workout and _then_ having to go to work is such bullshit.”

Matthews, from his spot next to the young man with multi-colored hair, glanced nervously behind them as if in fear of the scary Freelancer lady or Kimball suddenly materializing out of thin air.

Bitters couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the sight. _Wimp._ …Though Matthews’ actions mentally reminded him to lower his voice all the same. After all, he wasn’t _that_ reckless or suicidal. If Carolina did pop up just then thanks to some crazily unknown Freelancer ability, Bitters would have been a dead man.

“This is just how things have been scheduled here, Bitters. We have to make do with it as best we can!” Andersmith said as he frowned at the attitude that had apparently been in Bitters’ voice.

It figured that Andersmith would be rather gung-ho about their torturous training routine. All Bitters could think during it was how much this whole exchange program sucked.

“Besides,” Jensen remarked helpfully, “Isn’t it better to start the day on a tough workout and then get to relax a bit with office work?”

Palomo nodded his head in earnest agreement, “Oh, the other way would totally suck!”

Bitters had no idea if Palomo honestly believed that, or if he was trying to get on Jensen’s good side yet again. After all, his crush on the tan-skinned girl was pretty well-known to everyone but Jensen herself.

Volleyball raised a blond eyebrow towards both Matthews and Bitters’ direction, “The two of you haven’t even been introduced to your work superior yet. So why are you complaining so much, Bitters?” She asked, shrugging as if she thought he was blowing this whole thing out of proportion.

Matthews’ eyes widened significantly at the reminder, nodding his head, “I hope they’ll be as nice to us as yours were!”

Personally, Bitters didn’t really care either way so long as their mysterious supervisor wasn’t a total asshole, but he mumbled a half-hearted, “Yeah, I guess.” all the same to the auburn-haired lieutenant’s statement.

Jensen and Palomo both stopped walking to pat Matthews reassuringly on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Matthews!” Jensen told him, smiling to reveal her braces, “I’m sure it will be just fine.”

“Yeah!” Palomo echoed.

The lieutenants made their way over to the horribly named ASS Building, promptly heading to the second floor. The hallway was painted on one side blue and on the other side red, flecks of paint falling off as if to indicate that the job had been done in a hurry.

Standing in front of one of the blue painted offices were Caboose and Sheila.

“Palomo! Andersmith!” The blue-wearing blond who almost melted into his side of the hallway due to the coloring of his clothes waved excitedly, “You made it!”

“Welcome.” Sheila nodded her head in polite greeting, a stark contrast to the overly eager Caboose.

“It is good to see you again!” Andersmith actually saluted the soldiers-turned-office-workers, “We are both ready for work.”

“That is wonderful.” Sheila noted, still smiling.

“We are going to have so much fun!” Caboose exclaimed.

“Yeah!” Palomo also shouted in excitement, although it was obvious he only had a vague inclination about what was going on.

There was an awkward pause following the exclamations as the four Blue Team members continued to simply stand in the office doorway.

“Um…” Palomo scratched his head in confusion, “Why are we just standing in the hallway again?”

_“Mother fucker!”_ There was a loud curse from inside the office at that exact moment, causing the lieutenants to jump slightly. The voice belonged to none other than Leonard Church.

Sheila’s smile somehow managed to falter for only the briefest of moments, “We are currently experiencing some minor technical difficulties.”

“Yes,” Caboose noted solemnly in agreement with the android, “Someone who was not me but was definitely Tucker wanted to see what happened when you gave a computer grape soda.”

_“Goddamn it, Caboose!”_ Church yelled out again, _“Why is there confetti in here too?”_

“The computer was not very thirsty.”

Sheila smiled once more, “We will be getting back to work as soon as the situation is resolved.” She informed them.

Palomo and Andersmith exchanged a glance before Palomo grinned and gave a thumbs up, “Sweet! Free time!”

“Idiot.” Bitters muttered under his breath as he rolled his eyes. With that, both Bitters and Matthews followed Jensen and Volleyball into the offices on the red side of the hallway, as they had been instructed to do by both Kimball and Carolina earlier.

Things seemed just as chaotic in there as they were on the blue side. Papers actually flew through the air at an alarming rate, and the Red Team’s robot’s head was, for some reason, being temporarily used as a paper weight on one of the desks.

Donut and Simmons both looked up from their desks at the four newcomers, as if all of this chaos was completely normal. “Hey, guys.” Simmons greeted nervously, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Did you manage to find the place all right?” Donut asked as he stood up.

There was a _“Harrumph!”_ from a side-office as Sarge stepped into the space, “Would you little ladies like a tour of this place before we plunge knee-deep into the dirt and grit?” He asked Volleyball and Jensen amidst a windstorm of papers.

The two girls glanced at each other before nodding.

Donut clapped his hands together, brown eyes alight with anticipation, “Oh, this will be so much fun!” He stated as he gestured them further inside.

That just left Simmons (well, _and_ Lopez’s head) with Matthews and Bitters. The maroon-wearing man shifted awkwardly on his feet. “You two are the bodyguard trainees, I take it?” He finally asked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably thanks to a high-pitched twinge to his voice.

Matthews nodded, “That’s right, sir.”

A resigned look crossed over Simmons’ face and he sighed, “About that.” He began, “Your superior should be…”

“What’s up?” A voice asked rather carelessly from behind them. Bitters and Matthews turned around only to find a stranger in orange in the doorway. Bitters vaguely recalled having seen him for a couple minutes during their orientation earlier.

Simmons frowned at the intrusion, “You’re fucking late!”

The heavyset, tan-skinned man behind them shrugged nonchalantly and reached between the two lieutenants to hand a steaming cup to the pale redhead, a sly smirk on his face, “Figured you might want some coffee.”

The unspoken joke in that statement was completely lost on Matthews and Bitters, but Simmons’ face took on a rather flushed and reddish hue as he looked at the offending cup of coffee. He then sputtered indignantly before storming off to catch up with Donut and the others.

“Guess not.” The man took a gulp from his own cup before setting his eyes on the two young men standing in front of him, “Hey, I’m Grif and I suppose I’m your supervisor or whatever.” He motioned in the direction that Simmons had gone in, “And that dork over there is who we will be monitoring.”

Bitters couldn’t help but glance around at the chaotic mess in the office and muttered _“Fuck me.”_ under his breath.

“Bienvenido a mi mundo.” _{“Welcome to my world.”}_

*****

Tucker was just finishing up his run when he noticed the woman who had been with the Armonian kids returning to the main training grounds. She had apparently been putting away some of the training equipment that their group had been using earlier.

He nodded to her in greeting before slowing down to jog by her side. “Your name is Kimball, right?” He asked, “From Armonia?”

Vanessa Kimball nodded, frowning slightly as she tried to recall why he seemed so familiar to her, “You’re Tucker, correct?” When he nodded, she asked curiously, “Aren’t you a Blue? What are you doing out here with the lieutenants?”

“Ugh, it’s all because of this stupid bullshit reason,” Tucker couldn’t help but grimace, “Though I _do_ like showing off my kick ass self!”

Kimball raised a dark eyebrow in response to his last comment in particular, but otherwise said nothing.

“I’m almost done for the day.” He continued, “You know, you should totally come by the Blue Team offices sometime. Check on the kids and all.”

“I intend to.” The woman told him succinctly, “After all, they are my responsibility.”

“Right, right. That totally makes sense.” Tucker wondered if he should try one of his ingenious pickup lines right about then, but ultimately decided against it. Maybe later he’d show her his scar. _Bow-chicka-bow-wow._

If he didn’t get back soon, Washington was likely to murder him. He would hate to leave Junior fatherless for such a stupid reason. Even if the reason was a hot woman he could totally score with. He fought the urge to give his subconscious the finger when he heard Church in his head say _“No fucking way.”_

Waving goodbye to Kimball, he hurried on only to frown at the definite leg cramp he was starting to get.

*****

Work ended up going surprisingly well, all things considered. It had been easy enough once they had gotten into the swing of things. Jensen and Volleyball became rather large assets to the Red Team offices. Simmons noted that they had been much more productive today than they usually were.

He honestly wished that he could say the same thing about his three “bodyguards,” but beyond Matthews offering to try and help out every now and then, that was pretty far from the case. Grif and Bitters seemed more focused on attempting to sleep standing up than anything else. The redhead would almost be impressed by their devotion to a single goal if it wasn’t so annoying.

Just as he was about to go over to Grif’s side to mutter something along the lines of _“needing to set a good example”_ yet again, the door to the office opened. Simmons paused abruptly when he saw who was standing there.

Malcolm Hargrove, a chairman for some of the various subcommittees here in Valhalla as well as the leader of the research division known simply as Charon, was flanked by Felix and Locus. Both mercenaries looked as though they would prefer to be anywhere but there, which was the usual reaction most people had to stepping inside the ASS Building.

The older man was currently discussing something in a low voice to Sarge, his eyes glancing distastefully into the room as he did so. Hargrove seemed to focus on the Armonian kids in particular with his rigidly cool regard before he finished whatever conversation he was having with Sarge. He turned to quickly leave the ASS Building as soon as possible, obviously deeming the place not worth much of his time.

Hargrove caught onto Simmons having noticed him before the redhead could look away, giving the younger man a perfunctory nod of his head in practiced greeting. Simmons swallowed nervously and returned the gesture before the older man left, his mercenary bodyguards tagging behind.

“That guy always manages to creep me the fuck out.” Grif muttered from behind him, causing Simmons to start a bit before he turned around to face the tan-skinned man, “Your dad is friends with him, yeah?”

Simmons nodded wordlessly in response. They had been ever since he had been _“born.”_

Grif whistled, “Sucks to be you then.”

Sarge entered earshot before Simmons could sputter out an indignant retort, “That man is one unhappy customer.” He muttered under his breath, shaking his graying head of hair.

“Is everything all right, sir?” Simmons couldn’t help but ask, rather relieved to focus his attention on something other than Grif at the moment.

“Oh, things are fine.” Sarge tried to play it off as if his conversation with Hargrove was nothing, but there was a glint in his brown eyes and a slight frown on his face that told another story. His eyes flicking to the four lieutenants briefly also said that there had been more to that conversation than he was willing to let on.

Before Simmons could try questioning him further, however, the older man in red spoke up to the whole Red Team office, “Everyone save the two in orange were a tremendous help today. I do believe that about wraps things up here. Dismissed!”

Donut squealed excitedly, as he did at the end of every work day, while Jensen and Volleyball were still busy trying to reattach Lopez’s head in the background, “Doc and I have arranged a bit of a getting to know everyone better event close by. We’re inviting everyone from here and the Blue Team side!” The pink-wearing dirty-blond grinned, “I won’t take no for an answer!”

“Fraternizing with the enemy, son?” Sarge frowned at the thought, “Can’t say I approve.”

“Doctor Grey said she would meet you there, Sarge!” Donut noted in practically a sing-song voice.

“I’ll go get my things and be back in a jiffy!”

Simmons turned just in time to see Grif roll his eyes and mutter _“Goddamn it.”_ under his breath, shocked to find that there was actually a sentiment that he shared with the chubby man.

It must have shown on his face because Grif raised a questioning eyebrow at him and he blushed, quickly looking away. It didn’t seem as if there would be any way to quickly get through this, however. Simmons couldn’t help but sigh at Donut’s tendency to throw impromptu work get-togethers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third chapter of my Workplace/Job AU written for the Dreamwidth comm whole_new_world using the “Unhappy Customer” prompt. I must admit, I wasn’t sure I would get any chapters out at all this week as things have been really hectic and emotionally draining for me currently. But, I’m glad that I was able to write this one as it ended up being rather cathartic. Here’s to hoping that it ended up being an enjoyable read as well!
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this! :D


	4. Bashful Approach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

Richard “Dick” Simmons stood awkwardly by his desk. The redhead had only stepped away from the party the night before and shouldn’t have felt guilty for doing so, but the weight of the pouty glare that Donut was currently throwing his way effectively pinned him in place. With hands stuck firmly on his hips and lips turned downwards into a perpetual sort of frown, his normally carefree and happy co-worker looked to be the perfect picture of looming disappointment.

Simmons couldn’t help but wonder if Donut had taken lessons from his father in that department. Not that Simmons could really blame him, after all. He knew how much time and effort Donut put into his outings, and he saw how happy the dirty blond had been when Doc had helped him set the whole thing up with relatively short notice.

Truthfully, all things considered, the welcome party hadn’t even been that bad of an event. There was the usual hilarity and awkwardness that came with the Reds and Blues hanging out together.

_Church had been silently fuming at Tex for having more or less ignored him due to being there with her worker buddies, Felix and Locus. The three bodyguards sat at their own booth to get a good look at the festivities, but never actually joined in. Probably for the best, really, considering that the mercenaries were rather intimidating as fuck. Church’s mood only seemed to worsen when Caboose insisted that Freckles sit with him._

 _Lopez and Sheila had both been there as well, which was surprising considering that they, like Freckles, couldn’t eat anything. Still, Sheila agreed with Donut and Doc that the restaurant had great_ “ambiance.” _She and Lopez were quite all right with sharing a table alongside Sarge and Doctor Grey, both of whom spent the whole night flirting while having a spirited but wholly inappropriate dinner conversation about food poisoning._

_The lieutenants all managed to huddle together in the largest booth along with their superior, Kimball. It was that particular location where Doc and Donut spent most of their time, chatting about Valhalla to the newcomers and trying to encourage them to mingle more with the other tables._

_Simmons had been placed in a booth next to Grif of all people. That particular sitting arrangement had caused the maroon-wearing man to roll his eyes considering that they were now being forced to work together too._

_Surprisingly, however, Grif hadn’t seemed particularly upset with the forced proximity, even leaning against Simmons to get a look at the one menu they had been provided with. The chubbier man only rolled his eyes when Tucker and Junior sat down across from them, Tucker making a snide remark about their sudden closeness as Simmons’ brain shorted out._

_Following that, events had played out in a fun, albeit very chaotic fashion. Simmons and Grif both had a conversation with Junior about how school was going and what he thought he might get to eat. Simmons was honestly surprised at how in tune he and Grif were throughout it. Tucker cut into the chat a bit later after yelling out a discussion on appetizers with Church. Simmons started to feel some of his earlier apprehension melt away._

_Judging by the contented smirk on Grif’s face as Palomo and Jensen made their way over to say hello to Junior and to talk about comics, which Simmons could barely contain his excitement over as he discussed what would be the lamest superpower ever with his seating partner, he was beginning to feel the same._

_Just as Simmons was starting to think that this whole welcoming party wasn’t a terrible waste of time like he had initially believed it would be, his watch beeped, indicating the time. He hurried and excused himself just as Washington and Carolina had entered the restaurant, nearly bumping into the two Freelancers as he left._

“And just _what_ do you have to say for yourself, mister?” Donut demanded as Doc put a steadying hand on his shoulder as if to keep the pink-wearing man from launching himself at the redhead, “Don’t make me beat it out of you one-handed!”

Simmons sighed, having expected this to happen since he had left the night before in such a rush. “I’m really, really sorry, Donut. Honest!” He blurted out, “It’s just that my father wanted me to come home early that night.”

Truthfully, he had sort of defied his father’s wishes by even going to the restaurant outing at all. The look of sheer disappointment on the older man’s face when Simmons reluctantly entered their home was one that the redhead was expertly familiar with but could never get used to.

“Oh.” Donut’s stiff shoulders slumped a bit, his harsh expression softening to one of understanding since he knew how difficult Simmons’ dad could be, “Why didn’t you just say so before?”

Simmons’ face reddened at the query. Honestly, he was too embarrassed to talk about how he was still very much under his father’s thumb, especially in front of everyone at his work.

Doc tilted his head to the side rather thoughtfully then, hesitating just a moment before reluctantly removing his hand from Donut’s shoulder, “He would have been upset even knowing where you were, right?”

Simmons gulped at the observation and nodded, not trusting his voice to speak out loud.

“So I take it he is still against the peace talks and the exchange program in general?” The medic asked Simmons rather sadly. Obviously, the idea that anyone was against such things was a rather troubling one for a self-proclaimed pacifist like Doc.

Simmons sighed yet again, “I’m afraid so.” He admitted bleakly, “But I’d really rather not call attention to it if—!”

“Is…is what you said about your father just now true, sir?”

All three men turned around towards the doorway at the query, the four young lieutenants assigned to Red Team from Armonia standing there. It was Jensen who had spoken up, a shocked expression clouding over her tanned and freckled features.

Simmons nodded his head rather reluctantly before trying to reassure the young woman, “B—but there’s really no need to worry. He’s only one person and—!”

To his astonishment though, Jensen looked more or less relieved at the revelation. She put a fist over her chest and let out a deep breath of air, “Honestly? I’m glad it wasn’t just _my_ parents who were against the peace talks.”

Jensen’s comment shocked the three older men, though the other lieutenants seemed rather nonplussed by it.

“Mine weren’t exactly thrilled about it,” Matthews admitted rather sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, “Or the exchange program either, actually.”

Bitters gave a quick nod, “Same here.”

“My folks were adamantly against the exchange program in particular.” Volleyball stated, “Until I convinced them it was important to give it a chance.”

“I guess you finally convinced your parents to let you go too?” Simmons curiously asked Jensen.

The maroon-trimmed lieutenant became rather red-faced at the question, the three other Armonians suddenly smirking. Volleyball slapped Jensen conspiratorially on the shoulder, “Katie here had to pretty much run away from home to be a part of this mission.”

“R—really?” Simmons blinked in surprise, feeling rather impressed by the admission as the girl shakily nodded.

He wasn’t sure that he would _ever_ have the courage to try and attempt something like that, even if he was ever given permission to leave Valhalla. He had never known life outside of the military city.

“Thinking about it though, Simmons,” Donut stated in a rather contemplative sort of voice, interrupting Simmons’ thoughts, “It _is_ rather strange that your dad selected bodyguards from the exchange program then, isn’t it?”

Simmons couldn’t help but think back to Grif’s earlier remarks on that very subject, about how his father was _banking_ on things going wrong. He frowned, “You’re telling me, Donut. Personally, I think it is a huge waste of resources…” He spared a glance over at Bitters and Matthews then, “Um, no offense.”

Bitters shrugged indifferently, “Hey, we were all thinking it.”

“Ser un desperdicio de recursos es probablemente el punto de mierda.” _{“It being a waste of resources is probably the fucking point.”}_

Lopez had entered behind the lieutenants, looking as bored with the conversation as he usually did despite the fact that he had just joined it.

“¿Podemos empezar el trabajo ahora? No puedo enseñar exactamente a los tenientes qué hacer por mi cuenta, ya que nadie me entiende.” _{“Can we please just get started on work now? I can't exactly teach the lieutenants what to do on my own since no one understands me.”}_

“Lopez is right!” Donut chimed in not a second later, grinning from ear to ear, “I bet it is for some top secret mission that even Simmons doesn’t know about!”

Lopez let out an electronic sigh of exasperation.

“No importa. Tal vez pueda simplemente pantomima qué hacer en su lugar.” _{“Never mind. Maybe I can just pantomime what to do instead.”}_

Doc smiled fondly at the exuberance that Donut displayed though he glanced at the wall time display all the same, “Well, as nice as it’s been getting the chance to talk more, shouldn’t you be getting to work? I know that I’m probably needed at the clinic right about now.”

Simmons wasn’t so sure about that, considering Doc’s penchant for prescribing orange juice and aloe vera in lieu of _actual_ medicine, even for things like gunshot wounds. But, he kept his mouth shut.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, Doc!” Donut informed the purple-wearing medic, stage-whispering a moment later into the suddenly blushing brown-haired man’s ear, “But you know how Lopez’s gossipy nature infects us!”

“...Les odio en serio a todos.” _{“…I seriously hate you all.”}_

The android muttered something indecipherable as he wandered off, Simmons and the others not paying him much attention.

Instead, Donut turned to Jensen and Volleyball, “All right, ladies! Let’s get down to number crunching!”

Simmons sat down at his desk again, “I’ll help too.” He informed them as Doc slipped away with a small wave over his shoulder.

Jensen and Volleyball both sat down then at their own computers, throwing questioning glances towards the displays. “Um, before we start,” Jensen began, awkwardly raising her hand, “What exactly are these numbers for?”

Volleyball nodded her blond head of hair in agreement, “Yeah, they just seem like random gibberish floating on the screens.”

“To the untrained eye, that’s _exactly_ what they are!” Donut replied happily, “But in actuality, they are…”

He trailed off abruptly, a rather hesitant expression suffusing his features. He was clearly uncomfortable with describing the data to Armonians.

Simmons shared the same sort of look as the younger man before muttering, “They’re various statistics on Chorus. Nothing too exciting, just things such as weather patterns and the like.” He shifted in his seat awkwardly, “They are always being updated in real time to help with the war effort.”

“But I’m sure there are also plenty of other reasons for them now too, what with the peace talks going on and all!” Donut quickly added in, as if wanting to spin the reality into a nicer package.

The two girls glanced at one another again, as a stifling sort of silence filled the office.

It was Jensen who finally broke the uncomfortable quiet by smiling slightly, “Well then, we should just get on to it. Right?”

Simmons was once more grateful for the push towards normalcy. He noticed both Bitters and Matthews settling down for the long haul close by out of the corner of his eye. The green-eyed man frowned not a moment later, for the first time noticing that Grif wasn’t there. He wondered just what the heavyset man was up to. …Besides slacking off from work, obviously.

*****

“The data that Blue Team takes notes on and collects about Chorus gets compared to the data that Red Team collects. Together the two pieces combine into a larger, complete picture.” Leonard Church explained rather begrudgingly to the two lieutenants sitting next to him.

Palomo and Andersmith took a moment to process this bit of information. Palomo finally raised his hand to ask what was no doubt going to be the dumbest question of all time: “So it’s like how certain films and comics do crossover story events?”

Church valiantly resisted the urge to bang his head on something hard. There was not enough coffee in the world to help him deal with this bullshit. “That is close enough to what I am getting at, yes.” He finally got out past clenched teeth.

“Oh.” Palomo frowned thoughtfully, “Still seems like a pretty boring job.”

“Palomo!” Andersmith chastised his teammate before turning apologetically to Church, “I’m sure it is a very important job, sir.”

Church felt a slight tinge of amusement at the direction the conversation took, “No, Palomo’s completely right in that this _is_ a fucking boring job.” He admitted, “Which is how all of us got stuck with it to begin with.” He cast a blue-eyed glance at one of the constantly changing display screens, “Still, it’s not like data entry is entirely pointless.”

“For instance,” Andersmith noted quietly after Church trailed off, a contemplative frown settling over his features, “It helps in strengthening the war effort. Against Armonia.”

Church frowned as well, feeling rather uncomfortable as he nodded his head. The three men fell into silence, the only sounds in the office being those from the machinery around them and Sheila typing away at her desk. Church wished that he could be just about anywhere else right about then. And that Tucker was there to deal with this crap instead of him.

“I guess,” Church started as he cleared his throat and gained the attention of the two Armonians once more, “That about sums everything up.”

The dark-haired man wordlessly stood up from his chair to show the lieutenants where the life-giving coffee pot was, taking a few minutes to pour himself another much-needed cup, as well as where the arts and craft table for Caboose, and Junior when he visited, was located.

“Do you two have any more questions while I’m still in the mood to fucking answer them?” Church asked in his best customer service voice possible when he was finished. Just then, another thought entered his mind and he asked before raising his coffee to his lips, “You have training with Carolina later, right?”

Andersmith nodded at the last question while Palomo stared at Church with a rather scrutinizing look in his brown eyes before voicing his question: “Is it true that the scary Freelancer lady is your sister?”

…Fucking Tucker and his big mouth.

Church’s left hand went to the barcode on his right wrist, “Close enough.” He murmured before fixing Palomo in particular with a pointed stare, “Don’t go giving her a hard time, okay?”

Andersmith looked completely taken aback, “We would never—!”

“Aw, are you playing the concerned brother again?” A female voice cut through Andersmith’s protest, chilling the room to its core.

Church rolled his eyes at Tex’s teasing tone, “Why don’t you both go and help Sheila do some actual work?” He suggested to the two Armonians, not wanting witnesses to this upcoming conversation.

The two lieutenants nodded at Church’s obvious dismissal, quickly moving as far away from the smirking Tex as possible. She tended to have that effect on people. It was one of the things that Church most admired about her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He asked the minute they were more or less alone as the soft noise of polite conversation fluttered in the background once Palomo and Andersmith had made it over to Sheila, “Didn’t you get enough of ignoring me last night?”

The blonde sighed, “I actually wanted to apologize, jackass.” She admitted uncharacteristically, “I was on the clock then.”

“Spying for Hargrove?” Church asked as he raised a dark eyebrow inquisitively, wondering just why the crochety old man felt so threatened by a bunch of rather harmless kids in the first place.

“Charon has a lot of things going on below the surface, Church.” Tex muttered, a rather dark expression crossing over her face.

Before Church could even question what she meant by that, the former Freelancer’s expression changed to her customary smirk. “At any rate, I _was_ hoping that I could make it up to you. If you would agree to be my plus one at an upcoming event, that is.” Tex glanced down at his feet for a moment, her smirk widening, “I hope that you’re better at ballroom dancing by now.”

_That_ comment gave him pause. Church’s eyebrow jutted up even further, a part of him wanting to ask the black-wearing mercenary just what the fuck it was that she was talking about. But, another part of Church had a very large, sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t like Tex’s answer.

*****

Sarge harrumphed loudly as he finished swallowing down the last of his extremely rare burger, “To think that there’d even be an _“old-fashioned”_ party at a time like this!” He exclaimed for what was probably the hundredth time since lunch had begun, “Just what in Sam Hill are the fellas in Command thinking, anyways?”

“It seems like poor timing,” Doctor Grey replied while nodding her head in solemn agreement, “We’re only just now starting to get a firm grasp on the number of hospital patients thanks to the peace talks finally getting underway.”

“It’s a waste of resources that _should_ be going to weapons research or some other claptrap, is what it is!” Sarge stated disapprovingly, a frown settling over his weathered features as he stared down at the table before him, “And don’t get me started on my own team getting dragged into these shenanigans!”

Grey reached over and patted the red-wearing man’s hand consolingly, “You have my utmost sympathies, Sarge.” She noted genuinely before going back to picking at her salad.

The two remained seated in companionable silence for a long while following that exchange, the only noise in the mess hall coming from the muted conversations of others and the various clattering of plates and utensils. Sarge was still fuming, no doubt muttering all sorts of things to himself in his head about the various conspiracies that had led them to this point.

The dark-skinned woman looked up at the older man rather defiantly a little while later, “So, should I be expecting you to pick me up at seven exactly then?” Grey inquired playfully, winking deviously.

Sarge hummed thoughtfully, wrapping his index finger against the side of the table, “Better make it six forty-five. I never like to keep a lady waiting.”

They both smiled softly at one another over their lunch, although to other patrons it sort of looked as if they were plotting everyone’s demise.

*****

“Oh, fucking _spying_ on a goddamned restaurant gathering of kids and losers last night just because Hargrove happens to be a paranoid fuck was just the perfect conclusion to an absolutely shitty day.” Felix complained loudly as he and Locus walked away from the rather oddly named Staff of Charon building, crossing his arms over his chest as he did so, “Family restaurants are so _not_ my style.”

“It was a mission. We can’t complain.” Locus muttered dryly beside him, voice devoid of much emotion at all.

“Fuck that,“ The shorter man replied as he rolled his eyes, “I’m going to complain my ass off because it was an absolutely _pointless_ mission that we didn’t even get paid extra for.”

Locus continued walking, knowing there was no point in saying anything when Felix was worked up. At least he hadn’t whipped out a combat knife to toss up and down in the air in agitation this time. The looks they would get from various passersby whenever that occurred were disconcerting, to say the least.

“ _Now_ we’re expected to go to some stuffy gala event for the old man and play nice there too?”

“Those _were_ our orders.” Locus reminded him calmly.

There was a growl of frustration from Felix over how accepting the tan-skinned man was with all of this. “Hargrove’s lucky he pays so damn well.” Felix stated with another roll of his eyes for added emphasis before turning his attention entirely on Locus, “Well, let’s look at the bright side, shall we? At least I’m not suffering alone. Isn’t that right, partner?”

The taller man said nothing, causing Felix’s smirk to widen as he patted Locus’ back.

*****

Lavernius Tucker hid from Washington by hanging out on the opposite side of the training hall, figuring he’d be harder for the blond to spot if he was away from where people usually entered from. At the moment, Tucker was currently watching Dexter Grif actually get some training in for once.

The teal-wearing man had to admit that, for as lazy and heavyset a man as his friend was, Grif was actually surprisingly fit. He could do a lot of exercises when push came to shove, though Tucker couldn’t help but wonder what had sparked _this_ particular avoidance of his actual duties.

Instead of asking Grif why the hell he was working out instead of doing his bodyguard job, Tucker casually noted out loud, “I heard from Kai earlier.”

Grif paused in throwing another swing at the well-worn punching bag he was currently beating the ever-loving crap out of, wiping sweat from his brow, “Yeah?”

Tucker nodded, “It sounds like that music festival of hers is really taking off.”

“Definitely.” Grif noted with a flash of pride in the tan-skinned man’s eyes as he nodded his head in confirmation, “She’s been traveling all over Blood Gulch and beyond because of it.”

Tucker grinned, “Good for her, man. I know I would fucking love to travel some more if I had the chance.”

“I haven’t been able to since I was transferred here.” Grif said, frowning.

The dark-skinned man nodded, “I hear you, man. It’s been awhile since I left Valhalla too. Before Junior, actually.”

The other man in orange sweats glanced over at Tucker in surprise, “Doesn’t that mean you have a shitload of vacation days piled up?” He questioned incredulously, “Fucking use them, dude. I bet Junior would love to go somewhere.”

“I know he would.” Tucker smiled sadly, “But clones aren’t allowed to leave Valhalla on account of some stupid-ass rule. I sure as fuck am not going to be that much of an asshole and leave my kid behind just for some vacation days.”

Grif nodded in understanding, “That makes sense.”

Tucker glared at the rather thoughtful way his friend was regarding him with just then, “You ass-wipe!” He exclaimed not a second later, “You’re actually thinking how surprising it is that I’m a good dad, huh?”

Grif smirked good-naturedly and shrugged, causing Tucker to give him the finger, much to the chubby man’s clear amusement.

Tucker was about to say more when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of steel and yellow. The dark-skinned man let out a terrified, but oh-so-manly, yelp and promptly fled the scene, leaving Grif alone to ponder what Tucker had revealed to him about the status of clones in Valhalla.

*****

Both Matthews and Antoine Bitters were becoming extremely bored with just watching Simmons and the others data crunching all on their own. As questionable as a lot of his orders had been, at least Grif had made the other day somewhat entertaining by giving them outlandish _“side missions”_ to do.

…Bitters’ personal favorite had been when he had tasked the two lieutenants with sneaking extra snacks out of the mess hall for _“stealth training.”_

So, maybe Bitters was being a bit obvious about his boredom with his slouched posture and constantly drooping eyes. Oh, he was also pretty sure he had drooled a few times too. Even suck-up Matthews seemed to be having a hard time staying awake as the work day wore on and on.

Seriously, this assignment was _nothing_ but a gigantic, fucking waste of time. No wonder Grif hadn’t even bothered showing up today. At least Jensen and Volleyball were actually doing something, even if that too seemed boring as fuck.

Simmons cast a pitying glance over at the two young men while Donut and Lopez were busy showing Jensen and Volleyball something that had just popped up on one of the numerous screens they were glued to. Bitters straightened up in his seat at the sudden attention, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

“Um, look,” Simmons began awkwardly, “Since Grif never came in today, it’s totally all right with me if you want to leave early for your training session with Agent Carolina and Kimball.”

Well, _that_ sounded about as fun as getting repeatedly kicked in the balls, but Bitters wasn’t stupid enough to complain about a temporary reprieve from mind-numbing boredom. He nodded gratefully to the redhead before turning to Matthews, only to find the auburn-haired lieutenant slumped over in his chair, asleep.

He paused briefly then, unsure as to why his breath always caught in his throat when he saw how _innocent_ Matthews looked whenever Bitters caught him sleeping like this. A part of him just wanted to let the rookie stay like that for a little while longer, but he quickly chased the thought away as he shook Matthews awake.

“Come on, Matthews,” Bitters told a still groggy, yellow-trimmed lieutenant, “Let’s see if we can’t get in some more _“stealth training”_ in the mess hall.”

*****

David Washington was beyond frustrated as he headed back in the direction of the training hall. He was once again waiting on Tucker, though he had a very sneaking suspicion that the teal-wearing man was avoiding him in order to skip out on his training exercises. The suspicion made it nearly impossible for Washington to just sit around and wait. Tucker was wasting his time, and that pissed him off.

Washington had just come back from the Blue Team’s side of the ASS Building, where a dismissive Leonard Church had actually laughed derisively in his face and said something along the lines of _“I’d be bitching at him to do his fucking work if he were here, asshole!”_

Washington frowned at the memory, wondering if it really was such a good idea to try and get Church and Carolina talking more.

“Hello!”

The Freelancer was taken aback from his thoughts momentarily by a younger blond-haired man in blue waving at him a few steps ahead. He stopped walking abruptly, chiding himself for getting distracted.

“You are friends with Church’s scary-but-not-so-scary sister, right?” The man, who Washington now recognized as another member of Blue Team by the name of Caboose, asked. The blue-wearing man was cradling a gun in his arms, the same one that he always had with him whenever Washington saw him around.

Washington couldn’t help but twist his mouth upwards slightly at Caboose’s description of Carolina, “That’s right. We’ve been teammates for a while.”

Caboose nodded his head, “Yeah, having friends is great.” He remarked, “I am glad I have as many as I do. Including Freckles, who I am taking for a walk right now.”

Washington raised an eyebrow, “Are you…referring to your gun?”

Another nod, “Freckles, say hello.”

“HELLO.”

The smile on the younger man’s face widened at the tiny, but powerful voice that emanated from the gun in Caboose’s hands. Washington surprisingly found himself rather amused by this whole conversation, his own face breaking out into a slight grin.

“I am so glad that you are my friend now too!” Caboose informed him happily.

Washington looked up then at the other blond’s smiling face in shock, “Really?”

After all, they had only ever been passing acquaintances. Washington wasn’t the type to have friends. Not after everything in Freelancer.

Caboose beamed even more, “Yes, because you are not only friends with Carolina, but you are friends with Tucker too!” He leaned forward conspiratorially, “Who is still stupid, but is doing better.”

Washington couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in open disbelief over Caboose’s last remark.

Caboose continued, “You two are friends who are playing hide and seek with one another.” He then turned to a rather large piece of shrubbery against the side of a building farther down the path, “Isn’t that right, Tucker?” He called out loudly.

“Goddamn it, Caboose!” Tucker’s voice came from behind the giant bush, and there was a rustling of its branches and leaves as he stepped out. The teal-wearing man let out a sheepish sort of laugh and rubbed the back of his head, “Hey, Washington. What’s up?”

Washington smirked, crossing his arms over his chest triumphantly, “And just how many crunches have you done so far today, Tucker?” He asked rather smugly, “Because I’m thinking you can still do about five times more than what you managed to do yesterday.”

Tucker swore under his breath, while Caboose watched the exchange in earnest confusion before asking: “Oh, are you playing a new game?”

“That’s right, Caboose.” Washington told him, “Would you like to supervise this one since you helped me find Tucker?”

“Oh, yes.” Caboose looked excited at the notion, “It is always nice to help new friends! Right, Freckles?”

“AFFIRMATIVE.”

The Freelancer smiled, the gesture becoming even more pronounced on his face when Washington heard Tucker groan.

*****

Carolina stood by patiently as the group of lieutenants all but collapsed at her feet when she told them that they could stop. She looked down, raising an eyebrow as the sweaty heap of bodies before her struggled to breathe.

Maybe she had overdone it…?

But no, she shook her head to dispel the thought from her mind entirely. After all, fifty laps around the whole of Valhalla was something she could do in her sleep.

Perhaps the lieutenants were just put off by having been to work earlier in the day. She and Kimball would have to compare notes later on about which approach, having their exercise be earlier or later, yielded the best results. Then they could just reschedule future training sessions accordingly.

“I—I can’t feel my legs!” Palomo moaned out, frantically reaching down and grabbing the first pair of limbs he came across.

Bitters growled out, “That’s because those are mine, idiot!” and jerked his legs away.

…Only for his heels to kick straight into Jensen’s arm in the process, “Ow!”

“…Sorry.”

Carolina sighed at the fuss and proceeded to sit down cross-legged on the ground, watching as the younger soldiers struggled to disentangle themselves.

Both Washington and Kimball had suggested that some of Carolina’s awkwardness around the lieutenants might go away if she found some sort of common ground with them. Figuring it was worth a shot, she cleared her throat to get their attention. The struggling immediately stopped, as everyone copied her sitting position on the ground.

“So…” Carolina began, strumming her fingers on her sweatpants-covered knee, “What do you guys like to do for fun?”

There was an awkward pause as the group glanced amongst themselves. Tentatively, Andersmith was the first to speak up, “I like to bake in my spare time.”

Palomo grinned, nodding his head, “His cookies are the best! He makes them for me every time I get injured!”

“That happens often?” Carolina couldn’t stop herself from inquiring.

“Oh, all the time!” Palomo stated way too cheerily, “But I always manage to help out still so it pretty much balances out.”

“That is good to know.” Carolina replied, beginning to seriously regret even attempting this whole socializing thing that Washington kept harping on her to try.

“I like reading comics.” Palomo continued, nodding to the girl sitting next to him, “Jensen does too. We sort of have a book club going!”

Bitters scoffed, “It’s not much of a club with only two members.”

Palomo harrumphed, “You’re just jealous that we didn’t invite you!”

“Yeah!” Jensen nodded her head slightly in agreement, a blush on her face for some reason as she pointedly looked away from Palomo just then.

Bitters looked to the side and said nothing.

“Um,” Matthews spoke up next, “I like helping out wherever I can in my spare time.”

“Suck-up.” Bitters muttered under his breath, causing Matthews to flinch slightly.

Andersmith raised an eyebrow before Carolina could say that they needed to play nice, “Aren’t you usually helping him or someone else out yourself, Bitters?”

Bitters’ face darkened slightly with a blush as he continued to refuse to look at anyone. Carolina raised a red eyebrow at this turn of events, not sure if she should interject or not.

“I like working on machinery.” Jensen added, “Oh, and I’m trying to learn how to drive as well.”

“Never gonna happen!” The group sang out in unison all around her, causing Carolina to raise an eyebrow once more in curiosity as to why that was as Jensen pouted.

“I like playing volleyball, obviously.” Volleyball spoke up next, “And I listen to music a lot too. There’s this amazing new music festival I’ve heard about that I would love to check out.”

“I think I’ve heard of it!” Palomo exclaimed excitedly, “It’s the one that started in Blood Gulch, right?”

A blond-haired nod, “That’s the one!”

Carolina knew an opportunity when she heard it, and so she went in for the kill, “Music, huh?” She asked in as casual a tone as she could muster, “I _love_ singing.”

“Really?” Palomo inquired, just a tinge of disbelief in his voice.

“Would you mind sharing a few notes with us, ma’am?” Andersmith asked politely, the others all nodding their heads in earnest agreement.

“Would I?” Carolina smirked, a giddy sensation she hadn’t felt since being forced to go to karaoke sessions with the other Freelancers rising in her chest. She had secretly thought that it was always a shame that they’d canceled those outings after only two tries due to scheduling conflicts, “Oh, it’s on!”

A few minutes of Carolina’s singing later, and the lieutenants were all glancing cautiously at one another before awkwardly clapping.

“That was…” Jensen began before cutting off at a loss for words, looking around for help from the other Armonians.

“Very, very good, Agent Carolina.” Andersmith supplied helpfully in Jensen’s stead, smiling nervously.

“…So good!” Palomo chimed in a halting minute later, in a tone that clearly indicated he didn’t believe it for a moment.

A sudden silence settled over the group, everyone at a loss as to what to say. It was obvious that Carolina was practically beaming on the inside, thinking that maybe Washington and Kimball’s advice had been right on the mark after all. The Armonians didn’t have the heart to make her think otherwise, even if they hated her training sessions.

*****

Simmons’ journey to find Grif following work led him all the way to the training hall. He told himself that he wasn’t looking for his bodyguard because he was really concerned, but because he wanted to know why Grif had shirked his duties on only the second day of his new assignment.

The maroon-wearing man had to admit that he was a bit surprised to see a sweats-wearing Grif heading towards the showers, since he was pretty sure Grif didn’t normally train or practice good hygiene. Still, he quickly dismissed his shock to berate the chubby man instead.

“Oh, hey.” Grif greeted casually enough as the redhead stomped over to him, the door to the shower room opening.

“Don’t just _“hey”_ me!” Simmons got out through clenched teeth, “Where have you fucking been all day?”

Grif raised a dark-haired eyebrow, “Why?” He smirked, “Gonna tell on me to your daddy?”

“I…!” Simmons spluttered indignantly at the question, “Of course not.” After all, he knew what his father was like when he was upset and Simmons wouldn’t wish that on anyone, “Look, neither of us like this stupid situation. But, we’re stuck with it, so—”

“Let’s try and make the best of it?” Grif finished questioningly for him, “That’s what I was doing, nerd.”

Simmons blinked in utter confusion, “Come again?”

“How were the kids today?” The tan-skinned man inquired, “I didn’t come in because I was giving them valuable _“real life”_ experience.”

Simmons rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I’m calling bullshit.”

“Suit yourself.” Grif shrugged indifferently and promptly proceeded to strip off his clothes for the shower.

“Wh—what the…?” Simmons felt his face start to heat up and quickly averted his green eyes to the tiled floor, “Wait until I’ve fucking left, jackass!”

As Simmons raised his arms up to further shield his eyes _(much to Grif’s amusement because what guy really hasn’t seen another guy naked before?)_ , the heavyset man caught sight of what looked like a black tattoo on his pale wrist.

He smirked, thinking that maybe Simmons was more hardcore than he had initially thought. …Though, with the way the nerd was _still_ spluttering and getting flustered at the sight of Grif’s naked body, probably not.

“Like what you see?” Grif joked a second later, loving the pink blush highlighting Simmons’ freckles.

To his complete surprise, and oddly enough a bit of happiness that he wasn’t sure he wanted to dwell on overly much, the lanky redhead turned a vibrant shade of crimson all the way from the top of his head down to his neck at the remark as he managed to somehow cast another brief glance Grif’s way.

…The blush probably went even further down too, Grif couldn’t help imagining.

With a wordless exclamation of frustration, Simmons threw his hands in the air, “Just…just be at work tomorrow, all right?” He warned him before quickly taking his leave and fleeing from the showers.

Grif watched Simmons go until the door closed once more, his smirk turning into a thoughtful frown the second he was alone. He was almost, _almost_ disappointed that Simmons hadn’t stuck around a bit longer. It was the same disappointment that he had felt at the restaurant last night too.

He shook his head to dislodge that thought from his brain. Grif figured it was best to actually head into work tomorrow like the kiss-ass had suggested just so that the poor guy didn’t suffer an aneurism or something. Who knew _what_ was going to happen then, after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth chapter of my Workplace/Job AU written for the Dreamwidth comm whole_new_world using the “Bashful Approach” prompt. Holy moly, was this chapter a beast to write! XD Lol, I rushed trying to get this one out in fewer days than it usually takes me to write chapters for some reason, but there are a few moments I genuinely loved writing in this chapter (Carolina’s awkward attempt to bond with the lieutenants, for one XD). So, I hope overall it is an enjoyable read!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this! :D


	5. Old Time Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legal Disclaimer: I do not own _Red vs. Blue_ or any of the show’s characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.

The lobby of the one _“fancy”_ hotel in all of Valhalla was awash with light. The hotel mainly served as cushy temporary residences for visiting higher-ups in the army’s chain of command or for the leaders of businesses that had made lucrative profits as a result of the war with Armonia.

Honestly, Dexter Grif had a hard time processing the fact that he wasn’t currently standing outside in the middle of an extremely sunny day given how bright the hotel was inside. As he squinted while his brown eyes adjusted to the sudden contrast, the orange-wearing man had to mentally remind himself that he was not, in fact, standing on the beach back in Blood Gulch as Kai ran along the surf. That memory felt like it was from a lifetime ago, back before he had been drafted.

Not that it took much sensory information to help him further process that he was just in a hotel. Unlike the warm air that touched his bare skin back on the island, the temperature in the lobby was downright frigid, even with all the lights in the place turned up to maximum voltage.

Grif frowned slightly as a cold bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Even with the required tuxedo for formal wear, he was fucking freezing. Gritting his teeth, the chubby man pulled futilely at the itching fabric around his right wrist.

“Stop that.”

Richard “Dick” Simmons’ voice when he spoke up from where he had been standing close by Grif was a mixture of agitation and exhaustion. The lanky man looked equally out of place in his own maroon tuxedo, and maybe even more uncomfortable in the rigid setup than even Grif felt. But, the stiff posture of Simmons’ spine indicated how hard he was trying to endure it all the same. Grif couldn’t tell if he was currently more annoyed or awed at the red-haired man’s persistence when it came to being a kiss-ass.

Simmons’ hand reached out and gently clasped around Grif’s wrist in an attempt to get him to stop his movements, probably without Simmons even being consciously aware that he had done so. Grif felt a slight jolt of warmth at the contact that he immediately tried not to dwell on. Instead, his eyes quickly focused in on an apathetic Antoine Bitters trying to fix Matthews’ yellow bowtie for the umpteenth time at his friend’s nervous request to _“make sure that it looked okay”_ before his dark eyes came to rest on the back of Simmons’ father.

Despite the fact that Grif and the two forced upon him young trainees from Armonia were technically still on the clock and formal affairs such as this were generally way too fucking stuffy and painfully boring than he liked, a small, barely significant portion of Grif’s mind had been minutely looking forward to the chance to hang out more with Simmons and his eclectic band of coworkers for reasons that he couldn’t even begin to fathom. Distantly, he felt the warmth of Simmons’ continued touch on his arm, but still didn’t dwell on it.

Hey, if they were _all_ being forced to attend, Grif figured that he ought to make the most of it. But, Simmons’ ass-hat father, _(as well as, technically, Grif’s grumpy and positively overbearing superior)_ had commanded the four of them, his own son included, to hold back from entering the reception hall as soon as the other Reds and Blues had promptly, and altogether rather loudly, filed inside. An inquisitive glance directed towards the surprised and rather anxious Simmons at the time had afforded them no answers as to what was going on either. So, they had been forced to wait as Richard Simmons Senior concluded whatever business he was attending to with an equally official and important-looking peer of some kind.

The older Simmons finally turned back in their direction, and Grif was inwardly more than a bit disappointed when Simmons dropped his hold around his wrist to keep his old man from seeing it.

Simmons’ father frowned disinterestedly at the fussing coming from Matthews and Bitters, the two young men quickly dropping their hands down to their sides and standing at attention once they realized what was expected of them at the moment. Grif rolled his eyes but did roughly the same, noticing that Simmons could not stop fidgeting awkwardly under his father’s intense gaze.

Once again, Grif almost felt sort of glad that the deadbeat asshole who had been his and Kai’s mom’s sperm donor had never bothered sticking around for any length of time. At least it meant avoiding tense bullshit like this, although he suspected this might just be a Simmons’ family thing.

“Richard.” The older man noted with about as much enthusiasm as someone who had been selected to watch paint dry would give, “You will be attending this event as Chairman Hargrove’s plus one, and not _just_ as a representative of your dysfunctional little department.”

A slight spark of what Grif could only describe as something along the lines of indignation flared up on Simmons’ face at his father’s words, but it quickly fell to the wayside at the sudden onset of hurt that became apparent in Simmons’ green eyes. The freckled man’s shoulders slumped a fraction, and Grif had to look away quickly, a sudden bitter taste in his mouth on the redhead’s behalf.

“I _expect_ that you will not disappoint me in anyway tonight whatsoever as you represent the Simmons name.” Simmons’ father carried on, not acknowledging or seeming to care as to the effect of his previous words on his son.

Simmons shakily nodded and saluted the old man, “O—of course, sir!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Grif saw Bitters lightly slap Matthews’ arm to get the fidgety young man to refrain from following through on a hasty salute as well out of habit. _Little kiss-ass._

Simmons’ dad nodded perfunctorily, “Good.” He murmured before exiting the hotel entirely on account of whatever stupid and pointless wartime things kept him so preoccupied all the time. Evidently, he had only made an appearance here to be an asshole to his offspring.

“That is some seriously fucked up bullshit.” Grif let out before he could think to stop himself, his eyes darkening in sheer frustration.

Simmons, who had been staring at the ground and trembling with his fists clenched tightly at his sides, looked up at Grif, “Th—that’s…!” He weakly tried protesting, blanching somewhat when he couldn’t find the words to finish his sentence.

“It’s not like he’s fucking wrong.” Bitters cut in then, obviously annoyed at being a part of family drama.

Simmons sighed tiredly, choosing to say nothing further on the subject. If anything, he just looked even more dejected than before, a fact that bothered Grif somehow. Which sucked, because Grif put a lot of effort into not trying to give a shit.

“Chairman Hargrove…” It was Matthews’ turn to speak up next apparently, his hazel eyes glinting thoughtfully behind his glasses, “Isn’t he that old guy who was giving us those dirty looks in the ASS Building before?”

“I can’t believe you seriously just used that acronym.” Bitters muttered under his breath, causing the other Armonian to blush.

Simmons nodded his head in response to Matthews’ query, “Yes, that was him.” He admitted rather sheepishly, casting an apologetic glance over at both lieutenants, “Hargrove is not particularly fond of either Armonia or the peace talks.”

Bitters scoffed, “The Reds and Blues seem to be the only people we’ve met so far who are.”

Simmons flashed a self-deprecating sort of smile, “Yes, well, let’s just say that he makes even my dad’s views on the subject seem civil.”

There was a momentary silence as the small group dwelt on that remark before Grif cast a curious look Simmons’ way, the previous conversation still bugging him for reasons that he was not at all yet ready to dwell on. “What did he mean about you being Hargrove’s plus one?” He asked bluntly, the taste of bile rising in his mouth even as he asked it.

“Um…” Simmons paused thoughtfully for a moment in a way that did not put Grif at all in ease as he pondered over how to respond, “Hargrove was…I guess you could say he was something like a second father to my mother?” He nodded his head as if thinking of how that explanation made the most sense, like it was the best he could manage to describe the situation, “He’s always tended to view me like a grandson given that, I guess.”

“Huh.” Was all that Grif could really think to say in response, “It must be nice, having relatives around.”

…Even if they did seem like Grade-A douchebags, he thought to himself.

Surprisingly, his comment caused Simmons’ frown to deepen as the redhead glanced at the oh-so-fascinating floor tiles once more, “It…it isn’t exactly like that.” He muttered quietly under his breath. Grif opened his mouth to ask him to potentially elaborate, when the pale man’s freckled face suddenly shot up in his direction and gave him a slight start, “Be—besides! Don’t you have a sibling somewhere?”

Grif blinked, a distinct pull in his chest at the fact that Simmons had paid enough attention to Grif’s conversations to have picked up on that particular detail of his personal life. He rarely ever talked about Kai or his life back in Blood Gulch to anyone here save Tucker.

“Yeah.” He admitted once that oddly fleeting _blissful_ feeling settled back down before shrugging, “But nowhere close by.”

Simmons’ face screwed up in pained apology for having brought the subject up, his mouth opening as if to frantically vocalize said feelings. Grif opened his own with the intention of cutting him off and letting him know that it was no big deal either way when the doors to the ballroom suddenly opened with a clatter behind them.

Tex, dressed in a rather sleek and form-fitting black dress with painfully high heels on her feet that she no doubt knew about a hundred and fifty ways to kill someone with, stood in the entrance.

She let her arms fall back down to her sides as she slid out into the lobby, stopping purposefully in front of the four men as she raised an eyebrow in mild amusement at how silent they had all just become, “Am I missing something?” Tex asked, clearly entertained.

For some reason, while the younger duo squirmed in uncomfortable, rigid terror at Tex’s decidedly lethal presence since they had seen firsthand just a fraction of what she was capable of at that training display before after all, Simmons’ face took on a distinctively reddish hue and Grif felt his own cheeks become rather warm despite the still present chill in the air.

“O—of course not!” The lanky man with a maroon bowtie managed to squeak out, “We were…um…” Simmons cast a furtive glance in Grif’s direction, “Just getting ready to come in after…ah! Coordinating things! Yeah, that’s it!”

Grif nodded slowly in agreement, “Yes. That is exactly what we were doing.”

Bitters and Matthews both mutely nodded their heads in a rather frantic motion as well.

Tex shrugged rather indifferently to the obvious ploy, “If you say so.” The blond-haired mercenary turned to regard Simmons in particular with a sharp tilt of her head, “Hargrove is waiting for you inside.”

“R—right.” The redhead’s shoulders slumped briefly at the reminder, but then he straightened his posture and began to walk to the double-doors of the reception hall with only a slight air of hesitancy about him.

“Hold up.” Tex grabbed Simmons’ shoulder loosely before he walked past her, causing him to come to a flinching halt, “Are you really okay with this?”

There was a mild shade of concern in her brown eyes then, and Grif wasn’t sure why that put his nerves even more on edge.

Simmons smiled weakly in response, looking oddly touched by the gesture, “I’m used to it.”

She gave him a curt nod and dropped her hand away from his shoulder, allowing Simmons to get on his way to the reception hall. She only paused briefly before turning her head in the direction of the trio who were thoroughly confused and bewildered by the tone of the exchange that they had just witnessed.

Tex’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but she opened it quickly as if to cut off the demand for more information that was about to come from Grif in particular before he even had the chance to do so, “The three of you had best start moving ass. It’s not like your fucking work will do itself while you just stand around like a bunch of morons.”

_That_ was more than enough incentive to get them moving fairly quickly in the direction of the reception hall themselves, a smirking Tex trailing behind them at a much more pleasant and relaxed pace.

*****

About thirty minutes later, a thoroughly bored Grif watched as Simmons awkwardly followed Hargrove around. The old man seemed intent on greeting everyone of apparent importance at the event.

No matter how much Grif tried to spread his attention out over the entire party, his gaze always seemed to subconsciously linger the most on Simmons. He tried telling himself that it had more to do with his job than anything else, but even he was having a hard time buying that excuse the more frequently it occurred.

It did not help matters that, save for the various Reds and Blues and their temporary lieutenant interns, pretty much everyone else had recognized Grif as being on the clock and were avoiding him like he had the Plague. No wonder his mind kept drifting back to more _pleasant_ things. As to why his brain was associating _Simmons_ with pleasantness, well…he was currently far too sober to contemplate that.

Felix sidled over to him, a smirk plastered all over the smaller man’s features. He adjusted the orange tie of the suit he always wore outside of his battle armor with practiced ease, “The coat closet’s free right now if you can drag the nerd away from the old man for a few moments.” He stated almost conversationally, though with his usual snide undertone that seemed to indicate that he was in on a joke that no one else around him was privy to.

Grif raised an eyebrow at the steel-and-orange mercenary’s comment, ignoring the nearly overwhelming urge he had just then to seek out Simmons once more with his gaze, “Do I even want to know how you know that?” He asked instead, noticing the slight rumpled quality of the black material that made up Felix’s suit.

Felix smirked in response, eyes flicking over to the hulking Locus’ direction farther away, “We just finished a perimeter check.” He noted pleasantly.

Grif knew that was definitely not _all_ the two of them had done, but like hell was he going to remark any further on it. The two mercenaries kept their private affairs distinctly _private_ save for the occasional bouts of Felix subtly gloating like he was doing now. They were more than professional enough to never cross a line that they knew would risk a job, so it wasn’t really a matter Grif felt too inclined to comment on. Besides, it was probably just wiser to not do so for a myriad of health reasons anyways.

Felix sighed in mock disappointment at having not gotten more of a rise from Grif through his admission. He turned to regard Hargrove and his rather uncomfortable-looking _“plus one”_ instead, “Well, probably a moot point for you. I doubt that Simmons over there will be able to get anywhere remotely away from Hargrove until later on anyways, given past events like this.” He joked.

Grif rolled his eyes, “Such a shame.”

Felix continued as if he hadn’t even heard the obvious sarcastic response, his brown eyes glancing over the assembled group surrounding them, “This overpriced shindig isn’t just to help illustrate to the Armonians how much affluence Valhalla has, you know.” He informed Grif casually enough but with a sharp, regarding look behind his eyes, “But it is also meant to show business partners and military officials the benefits of technology currently being developed here. Like cloning, for instance.”

Grif looked over at Felix in a thoroughly bored manner, but chose to humor the other man since he seemed to be fishing for some kind of reaction to his statement, “Meaning…?”

Felix made a sweeping gesture across the expanse of the hall with his arms, “All registered clones currently living in Valhalla were invited tonight. Attendance mandatory.” He revealed with a great flourish. Grif had forgotten just how much Felix liked hearing himself talk until now as the mercenary continued, “They are being discretely observed and monitored by all of the higher-ups in attendance who are also well-aware of their individual statistics too. Simply to show off how successful the first generation of the program was, and why it should be allowed to continue well into the future.”

Grif had no idea why Felix was bothering to share all of this with him. He could honestly care less. A job was a job, and as long as got fucking paid he didn’t fucking care what it involved so long as he wasn’t being put in harm’s way. Still, something about Felix’s comment had him thinking, and Grif raised an eyebrow once more as he asked the thought going through his mind: “Even with the peace talks possibly making headway?”

Felix infuriatingly rolled his eyes, “Sure, let’s be optimistic here.”

Grif shrugged indifferently, “It doesn’t really matter to me who is a clone or who isn’t.” He muttered, “Most people are assholes, regardless of how they come to be.”

A glimmer of amusement came into Felix’s eyes, and his smirk only widened, “Clones are arguably higher in demand for war given how easily manufactured they can be—how disposable.” He shrugged, “I _almost_ feel sorry for the barcoded freaks.”

His tone indicated that he could really care less one way or the other. It was one Grif recognized from his own speech.

Grif remained silent, thinking of the clones he knew such as Church or Junior. Thinking of them as somehow being disposable just…he shuddered, a sudden bad taste in his mouth. Hadn’t he been viewed similarly too, given how he was the _only_ person in all of Blood Gulch to be drafted into this meaningless war? He frowned once more, not liking the heaviness of his thoughts just then.

His brown eyes wandered back over to Simmons unbidden, just as Simmons himself was looking over in his own direction for some reason. The heavyset man briefly got an unsure smile from the redhead that he was quick to replicate before the nerd had to once again turn his attention back to Hargrove and another particularly chatty guest.

When Grif turned his gaze away somewhat reluctantly, it was to Felix smirking at him in what was an oddly knowing, rather cruel fashion. He stretched his arms above his head and let out a very obviously fake yawn, “Well, this event is a huge-ass bore regardless, but at least I still got paid and saw the start of something that _could_ prove to be worthwhile entertainment later on down the road too.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Grif wasn’t sure that he cared for Felix’s comment in the slightest, even though he honestly had no clue as to what the mercenary was even alluding to.

But Felix chose to ignore him, turning to apparently go and _“rescue”_ Matthews and Bitters from a conversation with Locus instead.

*****

The _“conversation”_ that the green tie-wearing mercenary was having with both Bitters and Matthews was more of a lecture that consisted of listing of everything the pair had done wrong since they had entered the reception hall.

“You are fixating far too much on specific locations in the room, leaving several blind spots completely open.” Locus noted gruffly, his eyes narrowing amidst his scarred features, “Just how do you intend to remedy such a critical error?”

Matthews’ face was covered in a sheen of nervous sweat as he glanced over towards Bitters helplessly. His teammate, however, was of no aid. The dark-skinned young man was doing his best to try to look indifferent, but his far too stiff posture and the way he was not meeting Locus’ piercing gaze directly showcased just how on edge he actually was around the intimidating presence before them.

“Er…” Matthews somehow gathered up the courage to squeak out a shaky response, his mouth suddenly _very_ dry, “Through observation, sir?”

Locus regarded him intensely for a few very nerve-wracking moments. The auburn-haired young man trembled even more, and Bitters actually took a step closer to him so that their shoulders were touching.

“Was that a question, Lieutenant Matthews, or was it meant to be a statement of fact?”

“Um…” Matthews flinched slightly in the face of the question, his mind drawing an unhelpful blank under the weight of the towering man’s stare.

“Easy, Locus.” A joking voice suddenly _(thankfully!)_ spoke up behind them, “You’re liable to scare the kiddies so much they’ll end up pissing their pants in front of everyone.”

Felix regarded them with an obvious smirk plastered across his face, as if the scenario that he had just described was something that would actually be fairly entertaining. Matthews gulped nervously at the other mercenary’s presence. For some reason, he actually unnerved him even more than Locus did, despite seeming to be more approachable.

He wasn’t sure why that was, though there was a sharpness to Felix’s eyes that often came to the surface when you least expected it. Beside Matthews, Bitters tensed on reflex as well, hands clenched tightly at his sides.

“Felix.” Locus let out a small, exasperated sigh at his partner’s presence as his gaze fixated on Felix past the shoulders of the Armonians, “I am merely trying to impart the importance of—”

“Yeah, yeah. Teachable moments and all that bullshit.” The smaller of the two mercenaries cut Locus off, a sardonic smile looming on his face, “But let’s be real here, partner. You aren’t _exactly_ the teaching sort.”

Locus’ frown only deepened, and both lieutenants stood stock-still and surprised at how casually the backhanded insult had come into play. Matthews took in a deep breath of air, noting that Felix and Locus seemed to have a very complicated dynamic together.

“Besides, _that_ job belongs to that asshole Grif anyways.” Felix continued smoothly, as if to slide past the sudden tension in the air, “No skin off our backs if he’s doing a horrible job of it, am I right?”

“H—hey...!” Matthews started in defense of their mentor. It was true that Captain Grif’s methods were unorthodox, but they _had_ been learning things! He was stopped by Bitters roughly grabbing onto his shoulder in warning, giving it a small squeeze of reassurance as he did so.

The brown-haired man smirked over at them in amusement before he practically sidled over to where Locus was standing perfectly, attentively still. He reached up and wrapped a hand around the scarred man’s hefty shoulder, waiting until Locus’ eyes moved to catch his.

“Now come on, Locus,” Felix told the other mercenary cheerfully enough, “Ditch the small fry here and let’s do another thorough check of the area outside to kill some time.” He jerked his head off to the side, “Fatso and Blondie can help these two hold down the fort in here.”

Locus closed his eyes for a scant moment as if to contemplate something before he gave Felix a single nod.

Felix patted him congenially on the shoulder as the taller of the two turned and stalked off as wordlessly as he had approached the two lieutenants before. Felix cast a mirthless smirk over his shoulder at Bitters and Matthews before hastening his steps in order to keep up with Locus’ massive stride.

“Th—that was intense.” Matthews let out in one relieved rush of air, his whole body slouching now that he no longer felt the need to maintain an arrow-straight posture.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Bitters had also minutely relaxed, his dark eyes narrowing somewhat as he regarded the disappearing form of Felix in particular, “That guy’s an asshole.”

Matthews couldn’t help but let out a nervous trill of laughter in agreement even as he glanced over at the mercenaries fearfully in case they had somehow overheard, “Y—yeah, but…I think Mister Locus was actually trying to help us maybe? In his own weird way, I mean.”

“Maybe.” Bitters sounded doubtful, “And don’t call him _“Mister”_ Locus.”

“R—right.” Matthews briefly wondered what rank the two hired soldiers _would_ actually be considered to have. He shook his head to dispel the random thought entirely, standing up straight once more in the process.

His friend, in the meanwhile, had taken to leaning against a nearby pillar with his customary frown on his face. He crossed his arms over his chest as he took in the groups of people who seemed to be enjoying the evening all around them.

“It’s such bullshit.” Bitters finally said at length, “Everyone else from Armonia are here as fucking guests, and we have to work our asses off instead.”

Matthews pursed his lips in a frown, knowing it wasn’t quite as bad as Bitters was letting on since Grif and the three mercenaries were doing the actual lion’s share of the work. They were more or less simply expected to observe, but he knew better than to try arguing with the young man with multi-colored hair when he was venting.

Instead, Matthews focused on the glowering lieutenant’s remark, “Does…does that mean you actually wanted to dance tonight or something?”

Bitters gave a dramatic start at the question directed his way, quickly glaring at the slightly younger man who only flinched a little bit at the gesture, “Don’t be fucking stupid, Matthews.” He said emphatically, “You know shit like this isn’t my thing.” He frowned thoughtfully as he turned his eyes back to the goings-on around them, “But that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t want the option to just not have to work either.”

“Oh.” Matthews couldn’t think of anything more to say to that, and he tried to ignore the looming sense of disappointment he had felt at Bitters’ admission.

His dejected tone was not lost on Bitters, however, and he raised a dark-colored eyebrow in Matthews’ direction, “Why? Did _you_ want to dance or something?”

Matthews felt his face heat up at Bitters’ query, and he began fidgeting with his fingers nervously—a string of incomprehensible sputtering breaking past his mouth. “Um…w—well, you see…I…let’s—”

Bitters stared blankly at the other lieutenant as he started flailing his arms about helplessly. Then, just as suddenly, he grinned. “Hey,” he carefully reached over to rest a hand on the gesticulating, nearly out of breath Matthews’ shoulder, “We should sneak on over to the buffet table before Captain Grif gets the same idea.”

The suggestion and sudden touch caused Matthews to immediately still. He frowned somewhat, “Gee, Bitters, I don’t know if that would be all right…” His voice trailed off when he caught sight of the mischievous, knowing look in the brown depths of Bitters’ eyes. “Oh.” He weakly breathed, face reddening once more for some reason as he nodded shakily, “M—maybe just this once.”

Bitters grinned back down at him, his hand still lingering on his shoulder like a comforting weight for a moment longer. By the time Bitters dropped his hand to his side once more, both young men were rather red-faced and pointedly refusing to look directly at the other as they made their way over to the food tables.

*****

“I’m just saying,” Franklin Delano Donut whispered conspiratorially from where he was sitting at the table that had been specifically reserved for the Reds and Blues as well as the Armonians, “It wouldn’t shock me if they came bursting through that entryway any second now, all prepped and ready for maximum penetration!”

After his exclamation, Donut’s brown eyes looked pointedly over at a still very empty table, the only one in the reception hall designated for the Blues and Reds. The Armonians had assumed it to be a typo that stood for the Reds and Blues, but it obviously meant _something_ to Donut.

“Are you referring to party crashers, sir?” John Elizabeth Andersmith inquired carefully a second later, once he had processed what the pink-wearing man had said.

“Of a sort.” Frank “Doc” DuFresne helpfully supplied from his spot sitting next to Donut, a tiny smile on his face, “He’s referring to the Blues and Reds.”

“Um…” The dark-haired Armonian glanced around the table, blue eyes large with open confusion, “…Who?”

“The Blues and Reds.” Donut sniffed rather deliberately as he dabbed at his still empty plate with his cloth napkin.

“They are our upstairs neighbors!” Michael J. Caboose chimed in.

“They technically work in the same department as us in the ASS Building.” The dirty blond elaborated for Andersmith’s sake when the lieutenant glanced inquisitively Donut’s way, “But they monitor totally different sets of data. I guess we sort of have a friendly rivalry going on with both of our floors given that!”

“No lo describiría como amistoso.” _{“I would not describe it as friendly.”}_

“Things can get a tad extreme between everyone.” Doc noted, wincing slightly at Donut’s penchant for oversimplifying things.

“Once, they even tried to kidnap Freckles!” Caboose breathed out excitedly, “But they have been very nice to him recently for some reason.”

“Recibir un disparo muchas veces en el culo con un arma que habla hará eso.” _{“Getting shot numerous times in the ass by a talking gun will do that.”}_

“Yeah, Freckles is loved.” The blue-wearing younger man nodded in agreement to whatever he thought the Red Team’s sarcastic robot had said, “Loco is nice though!” He lowered his voice a decibel, “Sometimes, he will give me batteries and help me fix things so that Church and Tucker don’t get mad.”

Andersmith looked as though he were about to ask something else when he caught sight of Sheila heading over to the small group. The conversation paused then due to the obviously troubled expression that was clouding over the android’s features.

“Sheila!” Caboose shouted in worry at his co-worker and friend, “Are you okay?”

“You look as though someone just rammed into you repeatedly, and not in a particularly fun way.” Donut chewed on his lower lip in a concerned fashion.

Lopez was up on his feet in an instant, grabbing the mechanized female’s elbow gently.

“¿Que pasó?” _{“What happened?”}_

The frown on Sheila’s face only deepened at everyone’s genuine displays of worry, “I am fine, everyone.” She noted, bowing her head, “I am sorry to have worried you.”

When the group continued to regard her doubtfully, she sighed. Her eyes flickered over to a group of guests who were now quietly conversing amongst themselves. The unfamiliar group had pulled her away from the others when they had entered the reception hall to discuss some matter or other that they had assured her co-workers wouldn’t take long.

“They asked me several questions about my connections to FILSS.” Sheila noted quietly, rubbing the barcode on her synthetic skin.

“FILSS?” Andersmith was once again completely confused by what was being discussed.

“Sheila-But-Not-Sheila.” Caboose tried helping his protégé out, “She is gone now.”

Donut patted Caboose comfortingly on the shoulder then, as he looked down at the table sadly. Doc frowned thoughtfully as if remembering something from Caboose’s vague and confusing description, “She’s the Virtual Intelligence that you were copied from, right?”

Sheila nodded, eyes remained as fixated on the table’s surface as Caboose’s, “They wished to know about my specifications in comparison to her own, and how I came to be assigned my current designation.” A slight shudder moved through her metallic frame at the recollection, “It almost felt as though it were some kind of evaluation for a merchandise sale.”

“That’s terrible!” Donut looked extremely upset on her behalf.

Lopez regarded her carefully for a few moments.

“¿Quieres irte entonces?” _{“Do you want to leave then?”}_

Sheila looked up at the robot’s face, seemingly rather touched by his display of concern. At length, she shook her head, “Thank you, Lopez, but no.” There was an almost playful note to her voice when she looked over at him again, “I’d rather stay here and dance with someone extremely handsome like no one’s watching, if that’s all the same to you.”

“Cuidado, mis circuitos probablemente se sobrecalienten.” _{“Careful, my circuits are likely to overheat.”}_

Sheila laughed at whatever it was that Lopez had told her, Donut practically leaping out of his chair and clapping his hands together at the display. “Oh, that was _so_ romantic!” He squealed, flashing a huge grin at the medic by his side, “You think so too, right, Doc?”

“Yes.” Doc muttered rather lamely in response, his brown eyes fixated on Donut’s still beaming face.

Andersmith smiled once again at the cheerful energy that had suddenly enveloped the table, glad that everything appeared to be back in sorts once more. He cast his own blue-eyed glance over in the direction of the still empty table that Donut had been regarding earlier, “I guess the Blues and Reds won’t be coming tonight?”

Donut looked over that way too, “Seems like it.” He stated, a thoughtful frown crossing over his features, “Even the most gung-ho and hardest among us can become limp and flaccid over time.”

“¿Cómo se aplica eso incluso a algo en este contexto?” _{“How does that even apply to anything in this context?”}_

“Maybe that’s for the best, given the food fight that Buckey and Tucker got into last month.” Doc noted consolingly, a sad sort of smile crossing over his features, “Though it would be nice if all of us could get along for just one night at the very least.”

“Yeah, none of that hippie claptrap and wishful thinking will work out anytime soon, son.” Sarge retorted matter-of-factly as both he and Doctor Grey approached the table with linked arms, “You fellas aren’t still worried that those dastardly Blues and Reds are gonna do something to sabotage this here event like they did all those other ones before, are ya?” The older man in red asked as he helped to pull out a chair for his obvious date.

Sheila looked rather thoughtful in regards to the question, “It’s highly doubtful since so many higher-ups are here, but it isn’t exactly something to put past them either.”

“I wouldn’t bother worrying your mechanized head over that anymore, little lady.” Sarge assured her, a downright gleeful smile crossing over his weathered features as he looked over to the dark-skinned woman who was sitting next to him, “The incredibly beautiful and wonderfully gifted Doctor Emily Grey here has warned them to not make any sort of fuss tonight or they’ll be rightly _indisposed_ for a good long while.” He chuckled maniacally at that last bit, sounding like an evil mastermind.

“Does this have anything to do with that troublingly large order for laxatives last week?” Doc questioned his superior fearfully, “Should I be worried, Doctor Grey?”

“Don’t be silly, sweetie!” She told him reassuringly, “I am a medical professional tasked with the care and wellbeing of all of my patients here in Valhalla.” Grey smiled brightly, a conspiratorial wink alighting her features, “But you would be surprised at how quickly you can politely request something when you have a robust supply of laxatives at your disposal and happen to be on a friendly, first-name basis with all of the mess hall staff!”

Sarge guffawed loudly, “I just low how downright diabolical you can be.”

Doctor Grey patted the older man’s hand, “You are so sweet.” She noted, leaning over to his side to kiss his cheek. “You can rest assured that the Blues and Reds will be on their absolute best behavior tonight.” The dark-skinned woman cheerily informed the group.

Just like that, everyone gathered around the table remembered just _why_ it was always best to remain on Doctor Grey’s good side.

“...Querido Dios.” _{“…Dear God.”}_

“Doctor Grey is a really nice lady.” Caboose informed Andersmith.

Andersmith nodded his head in earnest agreement, “Yes, she sounds like an excellent motivator!”

Sheila turned to Lopez while the robot continued to stare at the sweetly smiling Doctor Grey with what could only be described as a mix of sheer awe and absolute terror, stretching her hand out towards him, “Shall we have that dance then?” She inquired politely.

The brown-armored robot seemed to snap out of his shock instantly.

“Absolutamente.” _{“Absolutely.”}_

Doc watched the two mechanical beings walk away, gulping down a large portion of his water.

“Careful there, Doc! You don’t always have to swallow, you know.” Donut reached over as if to pat his purple-wearing friend on the back.

The brown-haired medic looked over at him then, his cheeks a vibrant red, “D—do you want to too, Donut?” Doc asked hastily, before blinking as he thought back on his rushed out words and tried to clarify what he meant as his blush intensified, “Dance, I mean.”

To his complete and utter surprise, the pink-wearing man grinned, “I thought you’d never ask.”

*****

Jensen stood awkwardly in a corner of the reception hall, absentmindedly picking at a plate of food that her friend Volleyball had insisted she try to eat before the blonde had scampered off to explore more of the party herself.

The young Armonian in her tan and maroon dress had seen glimpses of her friends here and there, and she had said her greetings to the various Reds and Blues in attendance, but she couldn’t stop dwelling on how horribly out-of-place and awkward she felt here. Fancy, formal affairs such as this were definitely _not_ her thing.

Then again, and here her brown eyes landed sympathetically on Captain Simmons awkwardly attempting small talk and a rather bored-looking Captain Grif a bit further away, it certainly appeared as though quite a few people were currently out of their element. They couldn’t all be as easygoing or adaptable as Volleyball or Andersmith, she supposed.

She let out a tired sigh, wondering if it would be at all possible for her to slip out without anyone realizing it and without Kimball getting mad at her.

“Katie! It’s awesome seeing _you_ of all people here!”

Jensen raised an eyebrow at Charles Palomo’s exclamation, deciding to ignore the very obvious eyebrow waggle he was attempting that made it seem as if he was starting to have a seizure by asking: “Why is that, Charlie? All of us came to the party together, remember?”

Palomo’s attempt at suave bravado completely fell apart in the apparently unexpected wake of Jensen happening to have an actual working range of memory. He blustered, falling in on himself as she could practically see the gears trying to start up again in his brain with some kind of potential new strategy. The tan-skinned girl rolled her eyes. Honestly, if he didn’t try all of these silly gimmicks…

“What do you want, Charlie?” She inquired, figuring that one of them should stop beating around the bush.

He flinched nervously as if Jensen had actually physically struck him with her bluntness. Sheepishly, he looked over to the side and rubbed the back of his head, cheeks darkening with the telltale signs of a blush.

“Do you, uh, wanna dance?” Palomo finally managed to get out, his voice an awkward squeak.

Jensen blinked, her surprise at the question rather evident on her freckled features, “You can actually dance to this type of music?” She asked in disbelief, indicating the soft classical notes flitting through the air around them with a wave of her hand.

A bright, dorky grin, the kind that Jensen secretly always thought should be on Palomo’s face, settled across the dark-skinned young man’s lips as he proudly puffed his chest out, “I am a man of many, many talents!”

Jensen couldn’t help but smile in the wake of his infectious energy, and she nodded her head eagerly. She placed her plate of half-eaten food on a nearby table before gently grasping onto the hand that Palomo was offering her.

Just as they made their way onto the dance floor, her partner stumbled over an invisible rock of some kind and tripped. She laughed softly after helping to pull him upright, squeezing the embarrassed young man’s hand softly in reassurance.

“It’s okay, Charlie,” Jensen told him, blushing slightly herself through her smile, “We’ll just follow my lead.”

*****

Vanessa Kimball was resolutely trying to set a good example for her charges by staying at this uncomfortable affair instead of staunchly finding the first open door or window in the back that she could hightail it out of there through.

It was a battle of wills that she was quickly losing, she knew, as she politely excused herself from yet another inane conversation about the weather differences here in Valhalla compared to Armonia. The plastered on smile faded from her face as she ran her hand briefly over it in exasperation.

Doyle would have been better suited for this sort of thing, way more than she ever could be she knew—immediately frowning once she had thought it. After all, wasn’t it largely because of Doyle’s surprising and altogether heroic sacrifice that she had even been willing to agree to this most likely foolishly hopeful and naïve plan in the first place?

The young people that Donald Doyle had given his life to help protect, they at least deserved an honest attempt being made at peace.

Kimball hugged her sides momentarily, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as she prepared to once again launch herself into the fray. If she thought of the event like a battlefield, she could do this. Maybe.

Just as she was as prepared as she was ever going to be to trudge willingly back into the fray, dark eyes scanning the assembled groups to quite effectively pick her poison as she managed to force a tight smile back on her face, Kimball was startled out of her determination by the sight of Lavernius Tucker standing at the end of the line of buffet tables.

His eyes also seemed to be searching the gathered people for someone, a seething look she had never seen on the teal-wearing man warping his normally carefree features. His hand was clasped tightly around the smaller one of a child that appeared for all the world to be Tucker in miniature, right down to the teal bowtie that Tucker had no doubt helped tie around Junior’s neck.

Definitely more concerned and not at all trying to lengthen her time away from the aggravations of playing politics on foreign soil, Kimball approached father and son. She returned Junior’s tentative smile and hand wave with her own as Tucker gave the Armonian woman a terse nod in greeting.

“I take it that you’re not a fan of the party either?” Kimball asked the child carefully, attempting to gauge Tucker’s reaction as she did so.

“It’s okay.” Junior muttered, casting his gaze down to the sneakers that were carefully concealed by the long legs of his pants.

“It’s fucking bullshit, is what it is.” Tucker exclaimed angrily all in one breath. He raised an eyebrow in Kimball’s direction, “I’m surprised you aren’t pissed off too, considering that they’re trying to rub Valhalla’s prosperity in Armonia’s face with this dumbass song and dance.”

“Who is saying that I’m not?” Kimball responded coolly, slightly pleased that she apparently had a much better poker face than she had first thought as she tilted her dark-haired head to the side, “That still doesn’t explain why _you’d_ be so upset.”

Tucker took in a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing a fraction, “Right. Sorry I bit your head off there.” He glanced between her and his son, “You’ve met Junior before, right?”

She nodded at the same time that Junior did, “We met at that get-together your department had.” Kimball explained.

“You ate a whole plate of onion rings on your own!” Junior recalled, awe creeping into his voice at the apparently impressive feat.

Kimball smiled down at the boy conspiratorially, “I could’ve eaten two of them.” She admitted.

“Me too.” Junior looked over at his father and blushed slightly, “But Dad says sharing is better.”

“Uh, yeah. Especially if it’s with your old man, dude.” Tucker joked, causing the nervous look that had been clouding Junior’s eyes to dissipate somewhat.

Tucker leaned closer to Kimball and spoke in a hushed tone so that his son wouldn’t hear what he said next, “At first, I’d been sort of happy that I could take Junior to something like this. I hadn’t even thought as to why it was that he received an invite.” He narrowed his eyes, “Then I found out that it was just because those Charon assholes wanted to parade around their latest successful cloning project.”

Kimball’s eyes flicked down to Junior at the revelation, unbidden. He was keeping himself busy just then by humming a song to himself as he took in the reception hall dancers. To think that even a child such as him had such a burden on account of the war. She bit down on her lower lip rather forcefully to halt her thoughts from progressing any further along that path.

Tucker let out a sad sigh, his own expression softening as he gazed down at his very own flesh and blood, “I know the reputation cloning has, but I only agreed to it because I had fucking seriously wanted to be a dad.” He smiled rather self-deprecatingly, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, since I know I come off as incredibly awesome all the time, but the chances of me ever being in a steady relationship are pretty slim.”

“Really.” She couldn’t keep her lips from twitching upwards slightly, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He nodded, “It’s a shock, I know.” Tucker joked back before turning serious once again, “But the one thing that I have always been very insistent on is that I want Junior to have a happy, safe childhood, regardless of how he was born.”

Kimball blinked in surprise at how adamant Tucker was just then, the passion in his voice plain to hear.

Tucker shocked her further a second later when he suddenly put Junior’s hand in hers, “Hey, can you do me a major fucking favor and watch over the kiddo here for a minute while I go and find Church?” He asked her, “I want to see if the asshole knew.”

Kimball opened her mouth to protest, she was _supposed_ to be looking out for the younger Armonians after all, but stopped when she saw Tucker smiling fondly down at Junior once more. Mutely, she nodded her head.

“Thanks, I owe you one!” Tucker beamed at her as the dark-skinned man stormed off in search of his no doubt currently hiding friend.

That left Kimball and Junior standing there rather awkwardly together, eyes glued on Tucker’s retreating back. Kimball frowned in thought as she looked over at the buffet tables, thinking it was probably a good thing for Junior’s sake to avoid the more business and political-minded guests. Her eyes landed squarely on Matthews and Bitters taking a break from their observation duties.

“Want to talk to some more Armonian soldiers?” Kimball asked Tucker’s son, relieved for the momentary break from politics.

Junior grinned up at her as he nodded in response, and Kimball couldn’t help but respond back in kind.

*****

“This whole thing is absolute bullshit!” Leonard Church angrily shouted in-between the forceful kisses being applied to his throat as his back was slammed hard against the wall of the expansive coat closet.

“Uh-huh.” Tex murmured in reply against his skin. He was pretty sure that she was pressing down hard enough with her lips alone to leave a shit ton of bruises.

Church moaned, trying to pull away slightly, “I can’t believe you aren’t pissed off, given the circumstances.”

After all, he had thought their days of being paraded around like living toys had been over and done with once Project Freelancer had gone caput.

Tex’s dark eyes flashed dangerously at his remark, “Oh, believe me, Church. I am _well_ beyond livid.” She stated in a voice that left no room for argument, “I just know how to keep a cool head when necessary in order to do my job.” She smirked, giving him a measured look, “Unlike certain people I know.”

Church rolled his eyes, muttering, “I don’t even know why you want to work for that asshole in the first place.”

Tex grinned and pulled him closer, his hands resting comfortably on her hips, “Aw, are you jealous?” She joked.

He snorted, “Hardly. I just want to know when you’ll be paying me back all the money you stole with those big paychecks of yours.”

“Hmm.” The blonde seemed to consider his comment for a moment, “Probably never.” She smiled.

“Bitch.” He smiled right back, blue eyes sparkling deviously.

Then they were kissing one another again. Frantically, desperately…as if each touch could be their very last.

“Seriously though,” Church managed to pant out against her skin even as Little Church no doubt was screaming all sorts of horrible epithets at him, “Being paraded around on display doesn’t bother you anymore?”

Tex shrugged indifferently to the question, “It just means that I’ll have to do something that will make everyone shut up.”

“I guess that’s true.” He conceded, “But it still reminds me way too much of Freelancer and—”

_“CHURCH! Where are you, asshole?!?”_

Church’s brain froze at the sound of a very livid Tucker just steps from the closet’s door, Little Church weeping silently as well. He groaned, having a sneaking suspicion that he knew what was coming next.

The dark-haired man sighed out loud at the shitty situation, “I really can’t deal with talking to Tucker right now.” He admitted guiltily to Tex, “I know he’s fucking pissed, and me being that way too is just going to lead to a whole lot of yelling and you having to arrest us or some shit.”

The blonde’s smirk only widened at that as she pressed her lips possessively over his own and cut him off, “Good, then. Because I’m not really in the mood for talking right now either.”

Despite himself, Church grinned back at Tex. Following her actions, his mood improved rather drastically.

*****

A rather petulant Agent Carolina leaned against the wall, her narrowed green eyes and the persistent scowl on her face doing more than enough to ward her from would-be conversationalists or hopeful dancers. She had, however, let them fade briefly if only to greet the Armonians as well as Caboose and her brother’s other co-workers amidst the Reds and Blues.

The redhead’s arms were crossed tightly over her chest, body language a clear indicator that she more or less wished to be left alone. Only a select few would be brave, or foolish, enough to try to surmount that hurdle, and Carolina was more than prepared with an arsenal of blunt retorts should they try.

“Wow, Carolina. You look _incredible_.”

The shocked tone of David Washington’s statement was enough to slightly diffuse the situation. Carolina turned her head slightly in the younger Freelancer’s direction, noting the two wineglasses in his hands and the rather dopey-albeit-cute way that his mouth was still hanging open as he tried not to gawk.

The cyan-wearing woman raised a red eyebrow slightly in mild amusement, “Thanks. You clean up nicely yourself, Wash.”

“Er…” He let out a nervous laugh and tried to rub the back of his head anxiously with his hand before remembering the glasses he was holding, stopping himself before he dumped red wine all over his light-colored hair, “Thanks, I think? Sorry about gaping. I mean—!”

Carolina nodded her head in understanding and waved her hand to cut off his apology, “It’s all right. We haven’t exactly had much reason to dress up before.” Wordlessly, she reached over and took one of the wineglasses from his hands, “Besides, I need a bit of levity right about now.”

Washington frowned, and Carolina briefly wondered if he was going to staunchly say he had been serious about his earlier remark on her appearance. The redhead was left wondering how such a straight-forward admission from the gray-eyed blond would make her feel exactly.

For better or worse, she disappointedly was unsure of which way to view it, Washington chose a different approach instead, “You did seem pretty angry.”

…That was putting it rather mildly, and she couldn’t stop herself from giving a sort of smile at Washington’s attempt at being delicate.

“It’s because Charon made such a huge deal about showing off their cloning projects without telling any of us that they were going to be doing it beforehand.” She muttered, eyes flashing steadfastly once more.

She’d had enough dealings with behind-the-scenes matters and deception at the height of Project Freelancer. To feel as if nothing had changed even after all of that…

Her fingers clenched tightly around the slender, fragile stem of the wineglass that she was holding. Carolina had to take a step back mentally to relax just enough that she wouldn’t shatter it with the pressure.

Washington started at her speculatively, his freckled features unreadable. At length, he spoke up in a rather quiet tone, “You’re upset that they involved Church and Junior.”

She gave a curt nod in response. It wasn’t just _them_ , either. Hell, she almost even felt upset for Tex too as she had a suspicion that the other woman wouldn’t have condoned this event had she known about it beforehand, much less if Tex had known that her boyfriend and his friends would have all been dragged into the matter too. It was all on account of one of her father’s most questionable projects too…

“A child shouldn’t have to put up with so much gawking.” Carolina noted bitterly, looking across the reception hall towards Junior. The young boy was standing next to Kimball, his rapt attention focused on a rather animated Palomo as the dark-skinned Armonian tried to narrate some sort of story for him with help from a laughing Jensen, Bitters, and Matthews.

Her frown only deepened at the sight despite how it seemed as though Junior was currently enjoying himself. The redhead knew what it was like to be paraded around for events outside of your own control at that age, having experienced her own share of unwanted attention growing up as the last _“natural born”_ child in all of Valhalla. It had not been pleasant once she had given herself the time to dwell on it.

“And Church…” Carolina sighed as she threw her head back to briefly look up at the expansive ceiling overhead, “My brother doesn’t deserve to be reminded about what a mess Freelancer was constantly either.”

Washington nodded his head mutely in agreement. His eyes searched the space for any traces of Carolina’s wayward brother but landed on a frantically searching Tucker instead, “I take it that Church is trying to hide from Tucker at the moment?”

Carolina nodded, already having tried to explain to the dark-skinned man about how they hadn’t known about the ulterior motive of the party until it had been about to start, but knowing full well how that had only made Tucker want to vent to someone he was close to even more. “Tucker can be surprisingly driven when motivated by anger,” she noted, “Not that I can blame him for it in this case.”

Washington could have said something about how that might have been her calling the kettle black given past circumstances, but he refrained from doing so and she was grateful for it. “I can’t either. He cares a lot about his son.” Washington admitted before a considering look crossed over his face, “Think I could add _“anger”_ motivation to my training regimen?”

“Only if you want to get punched in the face at some point.” She smiled wryly.

“Hmm.” He seemed to ponder the potential pros and cons for a moment, “Guess I’ll stick with squats and laps then.”

Carolina wondered if he knew just how likely it was that he could _still_ get punched for doing so, but seeing Washington smile in anticipation about future training sessions so brightly, when before he had seemed to only view them begrudgingly, gave her pause. After all, he deserved a measure of good humor.

Her thoughts drifted back to the present and she frowned again, wondering if Church would somehow suspect her of having known about this situation all along too. And to think, they were already not talking to one another nearly as much as she’d like…

Carolina brought the glass to her lips and swigged its entire contents down in one gulp. She barely even registered the fruity taste on her tongue.

Her eyes wandered back over to Washington, who was now staring at the couples on the dance floor. He had an odd look on his face, the same sort of one he’d get sometimes during missions when he would be arguing something to himself.

The blond looked over to the dance floor once more, then back over to Carolina. Over to the dance floor, then to Carolina. Over to the dance floor, then back to Carolina who was now raising a questioning eyebrow his way. Dance floor, Carolina…and now his face was taking on a near magenta hue.

Carolina was about to ask him in alarm if he was even _breathing_ by that point, when Washington gulped and straightened his shoulders as if he had decided something. He turned to her, gray eyes unsure but fixed readily on her green ones, his mouth opening…

A cough sounded behind them, and a surprised Washington _leapt_ into the air and spun around quickly, his face somehow becoming even _redder_.

A tan-skinned woman with braided black hair in the familiar silver of a pilot’s uniform was standing there, a bemused smirk on her face.

“Am I interrupting something?” The newcomer joked, clearly amused by the couple before her.

Washington was still gaping like a fish, and Carolina settled a hand on his shoulder to help steady the caught totally off-guard Freelancer. Perhaps he needed more awareness training too, while they were at it. It _had_ been a while since they had trained together, so that could be fun. Carolina glanced over at her friend in surprise, “Niner! What are you doing here?”

Last she had known, Four Seven Niner had been running transport missions to a small island somewhere.

Four Seven Niner waved in greeting, “I happened to be in the area.” She informed them, shrugging, “Figured I would stop by and crash a party while I was at it. You know how it is.”

Carolina and Washington both looked at her in surprise, though the pilot was soon shoved out of the way by a young man who was spinning what appeared to be some kind of video camera around in every which way.

“This is really snazzy!” The stranger with the camera exclaimed not a moment later, “I bet you could make some really good socio-economic commentary using shots of this!”

Carolina and Washington looked over at each other once more, blinking again.

“Settle down, eager beaver.” Four Seven Niner chided as she dusted herself off, another woman in white and cobalt helping her.

“Oh, right.” There was a sheepish, cheerful quality to the newcomer’s voice, “Gotta keep it on the downlow still.”

Niner rolled her eyes, “Or something.” The pilot stated before mouthing something that seemed to be along the lines of _“it’s a long story”_ to the two bewildered Freelancers.

The woman in white and cobalt turned her brown eyes towards the two Freelancers next, apparently not content to wait for their former co-worker to explain the situation. She stepped forward rather purposefully to make her introduction, “Dylan Andrews. I’m currently something of a freelance reporter.” She informed them in a curt voice, “And I’d first like to ask what the _real_ reason behind this event is.”

*****

Simmons finally, _finally_ managed to excuse himself from Hargrove’s side once the chairman became entrenched in a deep discussion about the potential business benefits of modifying _potatoes_ with cybernetics of all things. The older man waved him away in a dismissive gesture just moments after Simmons had felt his eyes start to droop.

The redhead began to trek across the hall very quickly to gain some much needed privacy, though he found himself stopping in his tracks completely when _Grif_ of all people blocked his way.

“Figured you might need this.” The orange-wearing man smirked, offering him a glass full of wine.

Simmons barely let out an appreciative whine and nod before he snatched up the beverage and practically downed the whole thing in one swig.

Grif chuckled slightly, “Whoa there, lightweight. You might want to take it easy.”

The redhead annoyingly hiccupped at that exact fucking moment, causing Grif’s smirk to widen. He glared back, “Fuck off. I need _way_ more alcohol than this to make things even remotely palpable.”

Simmons was startled at just how true he felt that admission was currently. Things had been unpleasant and nerve-wracking before, but the more that things progressed tonight… He shivered slightly, resisting the urge to rub angrily at that troublesome spot on his wrist.

Grif was looking at him in a contemplative fashion that caught Simmons a little off-guard considering the other man’s usual regard for him, “You must really hate things like this, huh?”

Simmons’ face scrunched up distastefully at the question, “You have _no_ fucking idea.” He admitted, his eyes glancing back over to Hargrove and then awkwardly around the space as if his father might suddenly appear, “But I don’t want to disappoint anyone, so…”

He trailed off, shocked at the rather serious look that Grif was throwing his way. It caught him yet again completely off-guard and he coughed awkwardly, ignoring the sudden rush of heat to his face and the frustrating thumping of his heart. It…it didn’t fucking mean anything, okay?

Simmons wracked his brain for a subject change, “I’m…shocked you aren’t at the buffet.” He muttered lamely.

Grif smirked suddenly at the statement, “Let’s just say that I _may_ have been unjustly banned from it following a rather colorful incident.” He shrugged, “Who has ever heard of a fucking buffet that isn’t all-you-can-eat? I sure as hell haven’t.”

He couldn’t help but smile as he shook his head, “Fat-ass.”

“Nerd.” Grif threw back in the same oddly friendly manner.

Simmons sighed and closed his eyes, his over-inquisitive mind already wondering just how many more precious moments of free time like this he’d have left, “I just wish things weren’t so fucking complicated.” He muttered to himself, running his free hand over closed eyelids, “All I want to do is talk to the others and then maybe go home.”

It was lame, he knew, but being able to go back to an empty house if his father was working late and just getting to relax for once in his room was the closest thing he felt to being content on any given day beyond the sheer madness of working at the ASS Building.

“I can totally get behind that sentiment.” Grif intoned seriously a moment later, Simmons’ green eyes snapping open at having been heard, “Do you…want to skip out?”

The whispered suggestion had Simmons looking at Grif carefully, as if it had been some kind of cruel trick. But, the other man now seemed to be busy looking off to the side. His lips were pressed together tightly, but he had definitely spoken a moment before.

Simmons was tempted, he was oh-so-tempted, even as he continued to regard the heavyset man in shocked disbelief. “Wouldn’t…wouldn’t that get us both in trouble?” he finally managed to squeak out, both terrified at the prospect but still hopeful all the same.

Grif shrugged, “Only if we get caught.” He told him, “But I have a foolproof system—”

_“DEX!”_

A feminine voice cut the chubby man off then, both men shocked at the appearance of a young woman garbed in yellow who bore a strong resemblance to Grif just a few meters behind them.

The newcomer beamed at the altogether bewildered expression on the tan-skinned man’s face, “Holy shit! I’ve fucking missed you!”

*****

Before Grif could properly wrap his brain around the fact that his little sister was actually fucking there in Valhalla, Kaikaina Grif launched herself at him, arms wrapping as tight as they could around his frame. He returned the gesture gratefully and without thinking, closing his eyes and taking in the moment before both siblings reluctantly pulled apart.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kai?” Grif managed to get out when his voice started to work again.

She rolled her brown eyes _(fuck, he had missed that gesture of hers)_ at his question as if it should be obvious, “I’m crashing a party. Duh.”

Kai could also, he remembered, be infuriating to deal with all at the same time. Grif rolled his eyes right back at her, “No, what I mean is, why are you here in Valhalla?”

After all, when he had been drafted, hadn’t he made her promise that she would try to stay as far away from the fighting as possible? That seemed especially hard to do when at a fortified town-slash-military base.

“I was lonely and I missed you, okay?” His sister recalled, frowning slightly at his tone as she continued, “So I met this _really_ hot pilot chick who said that she could help me out even without doing her any special favors, and I really wanted to setup a kickass music festival in honor of the peace talks so I figured…fuck it, time for a road trip!”

Grif closed his eyes and counted to ten in his head, “You shouldn’t have come here at all, Kai!” He shouted a moment later.

“Fuck you, bitch. I do what I want!”

Grif’s eyebrow twitched as Kai complimented her colorful remark by aggravatingly sticking out her tongue. She could be more than just a bit of a brat when she wanted to be.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Locus approaching and his gut twisted, wondering just how much trouble they were about to get in for interrupting the event. He positioned himself more protectively in front of Kai, his mind frantically racing through what he could potentially do or say to vouch for her and cause them to lessen any trespassing charges.

But, his mind went blank when the large man leaned over towards Simmons instead, quietly saying something to the redhead. An uncomfortable stiffness settled over the lankier man’s posture, but he briskly nodded his head and Locus turned in the direction that he came from without even a lingering glance in the small family’s direction.

Grif’s stomach dropped yet again for an entirely different reason.

Simmons smiled shakily over at the two siblings, “Um, you guys can totally stay and catch up. It’s okay. The chairman’s leaving early, so…”

The maroon-wearing man’s smile faltered and he took a hesitant step backwards, the action speaking volumes. If Hargrove was leaving, evidently that meant Simmons was too.

Grif’s frown deepened, not at all liking the look on Simmons’ face then, as if he was barely keeping things together. He remembered their conversation from minutes earlier, his offer to help sneak the redhead out, and he took a step towards him, “H—hey, Simmons…”

Simmons turned around quickly so that his back was to Grif and Kai, “I’ll see you later, Grif.” He told him quietly over his shoulder.

He left quickly then, but not before Grif caught sight of the black ink on the back of his wrist once more. What he thought in passing had been a tattoo before greatly resembled the barcodes he had seen emblazoned on the wrists of Junior, Church, and others all around Valhalla.

“Oh! Is he your boyfriend?” Kai waggled her eyebrows suggestively, not having caught sight of Grif’s contemplative expression yet standing behind her big brother as she was, “How come he’s leaving with someone else though?”

Grif sighed and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply and trying to school the troubled emotions flying across his features into a more neutral expression.

“Dex…?” Kai had stepped around to look up at him given his continued silence, a concerned look crossing over her eyes.

He promptly reached down and flicked her on the forehead lightly with his finger like he had often done when they were younger and he had gotten fed up with her teasing, “Shut it, Kai!”

“Ow!” The young woman winced out of instinct and gently touched the spot Grif had just finger-flicked on her forehead in shock despite him knowing full well that he hadn’t really hurt her, before her surprise and concern from earlier morphed into annoyance just as he had intended and she stuck her tongue out at him for good measure, “You fucking suck, asshole!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fifth chapter of my Workplace/Job AU written for the Dreamwidth comm whole_new_world using the “Old Time Feel” prompt. Crap! These chapters just keep getting longer and longer. I really should probably be pacing them out more instead of trying to type them all out at once in a mad rush. 0_0; My hands…they are cramping! XD
> 
> Anyways, I hope this chapter ended up being decent and that you hopefully enjoyed a portion of it, if nothing else. I rather enjoyed writing it myself, even if it turned into a massive monster. :) Thank you for taking the time to read it! :D


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